


Phoenix Rising

by Narsil



Category: Ranma 1/2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Ranma-chan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2020-05-18 15:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19337626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narsil/pseuds/Narsil
Summary: In a world where the Cold War with China is positively Arctic and governments are just becoming aware of the secret world of magic and the supernatural, a sick, curse-locked Ranma on the run and living on the streets is picked up by a US fighter pilot and nursed back to health - and brings Ranma to the attention of his superiors that she could have done without.





	1. Endings and Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Phoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/492586) by Scooter. 



> This story has actually been bouncing around in my head longer than any of the stories that I’ve actually been writing. It’s the result of the usual malady of new writers, reading something and thinking, I can do better than that! In this case, “that” is _Phoenix_ , a self-insert story by Scooter over at FF.net. As with so many other stories, an interesting premise but not so good on the execution, and naturally I started thinking about how I could have done better. Whether this would be better is a matter of personal opinion, but it should certainly be more exciting. Of course, I could hardly leave it alone without mixing in some other sources, so there’s another plot device here lifted from Sunshine Temple and Trimatter’s _Strained Harmony_ , and some others that won’t pop up until later chapters.
> 
> And no, this will not be a crossover with Sailor Moon. It will, however, be a Ranma-chan lockfic with a couple lemons (rated E, obviously).
> 
> This chapter was first published as chapter 1 of my _First Chapters_ collection.

“Forty years I've been at sea. A war at sea. A war with no battles, no monuments ... only casualties.”

—Captain Marko Ramius, _Hunt for Red October_

* * *

Ranma forced herself back to her feet and stood glaring up at her enemy, the selfish bastard that had found the open water kettle, used it to unlock his curse and recover his manhood, and sought to deny its use to anyone else. It had been a long fight, and Ranma felt tiny tremors of exhaustion running through her, but she hadn’t lost yet no matter how badly she was outclassed! Somehow she would find a way, and wipe that arrogant smirk off the face of the still-immaculate prince of the Musk standing a short distance away. Then she would unlock the curse and return home to Akane, and all would be as it had been before. At least he was standing on the ground now, not flitting about in the air like a gigantic hummingbird, so Ranma had a chance to get at him.

Then she heard a shout from behind her and to the side—Ryoga! The redhead whirled to find the Lost Boy running toward them, the open water kettle in his hand—the key to unlocking her gender-changing curse, giving her back her manhood!

“Ranma, here it is!” her sometime rival shouted, and hurled the kettle toward her.

Ranma eagerly dove toward the arcing kettle, and instantly realized her mistake as Herb shouted from what was now behind her: “No, I won’t let you have it!” She could _feel_ the build-up of energy that was about to slam into her, unlike Herb she couldn’t fly, there was nothing she could use to alter her trajectory—and from the corner of her eye she saw the second of the boys that had accompanied her, the bespectacled Amazon weapons master Mousse, with a weighted cord whipping from his billowing sleeve. Behind her there was a _crack_ of metal on flesh and bone, and just as her fingers were reaching for the airborne kettle’s handle Prince Herb’s final energy blast clipped her, sending her spinning, skipping across the ground ... as it engulfed the kettle. She caught a split-second glimpse of the kettle glowing fiery red before it exploded. The shockwave picked up the redhead and hurled her against the side of the mountain, burying her as the rocky strata weakened by her battle with Herb collapsed.

It took hours for Ryoga and Mousse to climb the new cliff face of what used to be a sizable chunk of a mountain and finally unbury the broken body of the still-unconscious girl.

/oOo\

Ranma lay on her back on the roof of the dojo, staring up at the star-speckled sky. The warmth of a cloudless summer day still radiating from the roof contrasted with the cooling night air, and Ranma shivered slightly as the faint breeze picked up for a moment (though it was more psychosomatic than real, certainly nothing like when he’d spent the night paralyzed on the roof after his second encounter with Kodachi). She considered telling Kasumi that she’d be sleeping on the roof again instead of in a futon on the eldest Tendo sister’s bedroom floor (the very first thing Kasumi had insisted on after Ranma was released from Dr. Tofu’s clinic was a change in sleeping arrangements), but she was finding it hard to push through the dark cloud that seemed to fill her mind enough to work up the energy to move.

The past weeks had been purest hell.

First, there had been her father, especially his reaction when his now-daughter came home from the clinic with Dr. Tofu’s warning not to stress her partially healed ribs (said warning being that if she came back with her ribs and arm rebroken, he’d break her legs to make sure she stayed in bed). Genma’s long rant had been histrionic and cutting, and ended only when Akane had physically pulled her former fiancé out of the room to keep the redhead from assaulting her father as Kasumi had calmly blocked Genma’s attempt to follow the pair. Of course, that hadn’t been enough for Genma, he’d had to follow that up by demanding that, since Ranma could no longer marry Akane and sire an heir, she had to marry _Soun_ and _bear_ an heir. For a few minutes Ranma had thought that Soun would actually grow a spine and reject his old friend’s demand, but as usual he had eventually caved—until Kasumi had put her foot down, _hard_. Ranma couldn’t remember another time he had actually heard Kasumi _shout_ at someone, much less her father. Even then it had taken her threat to turn the cooking duties over to Akane to shut up the fathers, and they’d been surprisingly quiet since.

But Genma had never sparred with his daughter, had even rejected Ranma’s demand for a match after Dr. Tofu had certified that her ribs and arm had healed. And he’d moved out of the dojo and into his wife’s small home.

 _Mom._ Unbidden, the memory of the last time Ranma had seen her mother surfaced, the older woman’s face tear-stained and crumpled, all bewildered grief. _Why_ had she let the others talk her into telling her mother that her son was dead? Of course, the fact that Genma had suggested it—demanded it, rather—hadn’t meant much, had actually led to their last screaming match. Nabiki’s offhand comment that Nodoka would probably prefer to hear that her son was dead rather than cut off “Ranko’s” head while acting as second in a seppuku ceremony had given Ranma pause, though, and Akane and Kasumi’s instant agreement with their sister had been the clincher. Still, she had never imagined someone in as much pain as her mother had been sobbing on her shoulder....

At least _some_ good had come out of this mess, the Amazons had already packed up and left. But even that carried its own spike of pain—hadn’t she meant more to them than just a breeder for Shampoo?

Ranma sighed and sat up. _Ya aren’t gettin’ very relaxed,_ she thought with a grimace, admitting her failure to find some peace in communion with her old friends. _Maybe you should check and see if Kasumi’s ready ta call it a night and—_

“Ranma? Are you up there?”

Ranma frowned—that was Akane’s voice calling quietly, but coming from Kasumi’s room. Normally the youngest Tendo respected her older sister’s privacy, certainly much better than Nabiki. And Kasumi’s room was dark. “Yeah,” Ranma called back just as quietly. “What’s up?”

“Get down here, now ... please.”

Ranma’s eyes widened—‘please’ was a word Akane didn’t use often, at least not when her fiancé was involved. Of course, Ranma wasn’t her fiancé anymore (Ranma pushed away the stab of pain that thought caused), and Akane had been unusually gentle since by some miracle Ryoga had found the dojo, carrying Ranma’s pain-wracked body and with a duck-cursed boy riding on his backpack. Still, Ranma couldn’t think of a time that they’d been alone in the same room since then....

“Sure, get outta the way.”

Moments later the redhead had swung through the window and across the bed to an easy landing. She repeated, “What’s up?” Her gaze sharpened as she automatically took in Akane’s mental state (a habit quickly acquired soon after arriving at the dojo). Akane was agitated, anxious—oh, plenty of anger, but she was scared. And on the floor beside the girl was Ranma’s pack, bulging at the seams.

“Ranma ... Nabiki ... the fathers ...” Akane’s voice trailed off as she struggled for words, then she burst into tears and threw herself at the redhead, wrapping her arms around the girl and burying her face in her shoulder. “They _sold_ you!” she wailed into Ranma’s shirt.

Ranma’s arms had instinctively returned the hug, and now they tightened as she froze in shock. She gasped, “They did _what?_ ”

“They sold you,” Akane repeated, sniffling. “Kasumi overheard Nabiki talking with Father in his room. Some businessman approached them—Father and Genma—at a bar and offered a lot of money to become your guardian. They didn’t even bother to ask why, they just jumped at it.”

Ranma was beginning to shake as it sank in. “I always knew Pop was greedy, but yer dad ... is he really that gutless?”

“Father isn’t ... okay, he usually takes the easy way, but this time ...” Akane sighed, then pushed away from Ranma to stare at the floor. “He’s afraid we’re going to lose the dojo to inheritance taxes when he dies. He was planning on passing it on to us when we married, but now that’s out and he’s getting worried. At least, that’s what Kasumi says he told Nabiki. He thinks that now that they have the money they can hand you over and you can just run away. Nabiki’s demanding payment up front to slip a drug into your food. Kasumi told me what she heard, she thinks you should skip the being drugged and kidnapped part and just go on an extended training trip, for a few months. She gave me as much food as your backpack will hold and asked me to give it to you. Just be careful out there—you’re female now, and there are plenty of perverts that’ll try to take advantage of you.”

“Sounds good, thanks.” Ranma replied, practically lightheaded with the emotion battling it out for supremacy: anger at the fathers, fear of what the stranger wanted with her, happiness that there people that actually cared about her, sorrow that she had to leave them even for awhile. She hesitated, couldn’t think of anything to say, and picked up her backpack and turned toward the window.

“Ranma?”

Ranma stopped and turned back around. “Yeah?”

“I’m sorry,” Akane whispered, still staring at the floor.

“For what?”

“Sorry that my father’s a coward, that my sister’s a money-hungry bitch, that you and I ... that I didn’t ... I’m sorry.”

For what felt like the first time in years, Ranma smiled. “Yeah, me too. See ya around.”

Akane finally looked up and relaxed at the sight of Ranma’s smile. “See you around,” she said, then stepped forward and bent slightly to kiss the redhead on the cheek. “Good luck.”

Ranma stared at her for a long moment, wide-eyed, before rediscovering her voice. “Uh ... thanks. You, too.”  She turned again, leaped over the bed to the windowsill, and out into the night.

/\

Leaning against the Tendo home’s outside wall around the corner from the koi pond, Nabiki saw the dark shape of her sister’s squeeze cross the night sky as she leaped above the narrow stretch of lawn from Kasumi’s bedroom window to the top of the outer wall of the compound, then dropped out of sight to the outside street. The mercenary Tendo smiled. _Perfect, Kasumi and Akane performed_ exactly _as expected. So predictable ..._

The page-boy-haired brunette straightened and walked around the corner and into the house, sauntering down the hallway toward the stairs as she hummed a happy little tune. _Tomorrow Father will find out that Ranma is gone, and I can suggest to Shwei-san that I act as his eyes and ears here in Nerima until Ranma returns … for a weekly stipend, of course. That should be good for a few months until he gives up and goes away. Maybe I should hint to Akane that she can pay me to keep my mouth shut?_ After a moment, Nabiki regretfully decided against it. If Ranma came back before Schwei-san gave up, Akane would get mad when Nabiki told him anyway. She might even demand that her sister give her back her money, and either way Kasumi would find out. _That_ could make things ... uncomfortable, until Nabiki left for college. Best to be satisfied with what she’d gotten from her father and would get from Schwei-san. It wasn’t like Akane had much money to speak of, anyway, not worth the hassle.

/oOo\

Nabiki stood at her open bedroom window, shivering slightly at the cool touch of a December evening breeze. She didn’t mind the cold—preferred it, actually. It let her pretend that her shivers were because of the temperature instead of fear. How had everything gone so _wrong_? Schwei-san had been the very image of a lecherous pervert, trying to buy a victim for his lust that he was unable to acquire willingly. He had been happy to put Nabiki on retainer, and the time came to reciprocate when Ranma returned a month after she left. That was when the Mercenary Tendo got the first intimations that something wasn’t right.

First, Ranma hadn’t looked good at all. She was a little thin, and both she and her clothes were dirty—she obviously hadn’t been eating well, or bathing regularly. Considering that Ranma enjoyed both good food (and lots of it) and a good soak in the furo, that said rather unpleasant things about her lifestyle on the road.

Second, Schwei-san’s response when she called to let him know that Ranma was back had been ... well, not _disproportionate_ , seeing how Ranma had been able to evade or beat down the thugs that showed up to “acquire” her, but beyond the resources Nabiki had expected a mid-level corporate expatriate of the Hong Kong Exodus to have. The small army that had shown up on Ranma’s second attempt to return in October had finished off whatever hopes Nabiki had had that she was making a mountain out of a molehill.

Not that her hopes had been very high, after she’d tried to refuse the retainer after the first attempt with the excuse that she needed to leave for college. The file full of records of her minor scams and blackmailings Schwei-san had dropped on her desk when he informed her that she’d be putting off college until he’d acquired Ranma had been terrifying—sure, she was still a minor so the legal consequences wouldn’t be much if he handed his evidence over to the police, but what it would do to her future schooling and job prospects would be devastating. And the fact that he had that file at all meant he’d forked out the money for some _seriously_ good—and expensive—investigators, because she hadn’t had as much as a hint of anyone poking around in her background as deeply as the file had required. And he’d been smart enough to keep paying her after his abrupt alteration of her near-term plans, meaning if the hunt for Ranma came to the attention of the police she’d be implicated. No, whatever this was about, it wasn’t a case of a sexual predator with too much money trying to acquire an untraceable victim for his perversions, the resources being devoted to the hunt were simply too much.

At least the second time Ranma returned Nabiki been able to drop enough hints that Ranma had realized Schwei-san knew she was back quickly enough that her head start had allowed her to escape that small army. But now Nabiki’s sisters weren’t talking to her at all, and Kasumi was making her life miserable by little “mistakes” with her laundry and “forgetting” that she was home at mealtimes. She’d been taking more nights off as well, and turning the cooking duties over to Akane ... as “practice.”

Nabiki wiped at wet eyes. _Just the wind,_ she thought. _It’s cold out, and that breeze stings._

Then her cell phone rang, and she sighed as she glanced at the clock—punctual, as usual. She picked up the phone and pressed the “accept” button. “Yes?” she asked, voice bland.

 _“Any word?”_ The male voice was the usual, but also as usual he didn’t identify himself.

“No, no hint of her. Anything on your end?” She winced.

_“You know better than to ask. You’ll see your usual deposit.”_

The call cut off, and Nabiki sighed again as she put down her phone and stepped over to close her window. _Where are you, Ranma? And what do I do when you return?_

/oOo\

Shivering in the doorway of a building empty for the night, Ranma hawked and spit out a thick greenish gob of _something_ , giggling slightly as the spit punched a hole in the layer of snow covering the road, sidewalk and patch of lawn. The hole wouldn’t last long—the thick snowfall drifting down would see to that.

She looked up, at the curtains of falling snow dimly illuminated by the streetlights. The view was blurry, jittery. She wished she could blame her now-constant shivering for the blurry sight, but she couldn’t—with the lack of food and worsening winter weather as Christmas approached, she was drawing on the last dregs of her ki and her ability to hold off the cold was finally failing. Her eyesight was dimming as she sank toward sleep, and she didn’t expect that she would be waking up again. After the last few months of trying to survive on the streets as a girl, the months of hiding and scrounging, she was finding it very hard to care.

For a moment an ember of anger burned as she remembered the dojo he and Genma had visited on their training trip and revisited after Jusenkyo, whose sensei had known of the curse and took her in after her second escape from Nerima—and whose home was now being rebuilt, because she’d trashed it while escaping the hunters that had found her (and left her backpack behind in the process). The only way they could have known to spy on Nakadan-sensei just in case she showed up was if her father had told them about him—and it wouldn’t have been just him, Genma would have told them about the rest of the people willing to take her in for the winter. And she didn’t know of anyone that her father didn’t, she’d met them during the training trip.

But that angry ember died, too, as she felt herself sinking toward sleep.

“Hey, kid, are you all right?” The Japanese was flawless but accented, a foreigner, male.

“Lemme ‘lone,” she muttered. Couldn’t he tell she was trying to sleep?

Apparently not, as she felt an arm slip under her knees and another around her back as he picked her up and began to walk along the sidewalk. “Come on, let’s get you to a hospital.”

It took a few seconds for that statement to meander its way through her brain, and there was something wrong about it—“No, no hospitals!” she gasped out. “Find me!”

The steps paused, continued again for a few seconds, paused. “Someone is looking for you?” he asked.

“Y-Yes.” She was beginning to shiver again, but not from the cold. If Schwei-san’s thugs caught up with her now there’d be no way she could hold them off, much less escape. When the man holding her started walking again she tried to struggle, tried to pull on the dregs of her ki, but found the world again going more gray than the falling snow warranted.

“Easy, I’m not taking you to a hospital.”

Ranma sagged in relief at the words, and her relaxation was enough to ease her into sleep.

/\

Air Force Lieutenant Wendell “Win” Blake gazed appreciatively at the snow drifting down as he took the long walk back to Misawa Air Base, an early first night for the fighter pilot’s leave. He might be an ace, but it was nice to simply gaze up into the night sky without searching for threats. Not that becoming an ace was all _that_ difficult, at Misawa Base, if the pilot survived, not since the Hong Kong Exodus. The flotillas that practically emptied Hong Kong of its people—everyone there that chose exile to every free nation that bordered the Pacific over falling under the authority of the Communist Chinese—may have solved the question of what to do with a population that could not be long defended and could not be willingly surrendered when Britain’s lease expired, but the Mandarins in Beijing had been beyond furious. They had been counting on Hong Kong to magically invigorate their perpetually struggling economy, and watching all those prosperous businesses transfer their headquarters to Taiwan, South Korea, Japan, Australia and other Pacific states as their workforces followed under the watchful eyes of the US Pacific fleet ... well, the Cold War had very nearly gone hot then and there and had never really cooled down since.

For a moment, Win wondered what his own career would have been like if the pragmatic Deng Xiaoping had succeeded in ousting Hua Guofeng from power. Would China even be a Communist power now, the last major Communist country in the world? Or would it have recovered its earlier promise of a free republic? And would things have been quiet enough that Win and his wife would have been posted elsewhere?

_Stop that! Tubal pregnancies can happen anywhere, and by the time we realized something was wrong there wasn’t a hospital in the world that could have saved her. And even if being posted elsewhere would have meant the timing would have been different, there are other ways to die—maybe if I’d been posted to Germany our plane would have gone down crossing the Atlantic._

But he still hadn’t expected to outlive his wife, certainly not by as many years as he probably had ahead of him—Mandy had been a homemaker, and he was a fighter pilot!

 _You_ are _in a mood tonight, aren’t you?_ he asked himself, as he realized he’d come to a stop and was staring at empty air. He shrugged, smiling wryly, and started forward again. _Mandy would have some harsh words if she saw you. Good thing I made an early night of it. It was good of Stacy and David to ask me to join their bar crawl, I know they worry about me, but there’s no point in ruining their own fun just because I’m not having any._

He glanced around as he walked and paused again—someone was huddled in the doorway of one of the old headquarters buildings and while it was a nice night for a stroll if you were dressed warmly and had grown up in the Colorado mountains, sleeping in the open without a bag was another matter. Whoever it was didn’t look exactly warmly dressed, either. He stepped over, and his jaw clenched when he realized just how young the girl was. He asked, “Hey, kid, are you all right?”

“Lemme ‘lone,” the girl replied, her voice slurred and faint.

 _Not likely._ He crouched, gathered her up into his arms, and rose to his feet to stride toward the base’s gate. “Come on, let’s get you to a hospital.”

Within seconds, he had a frantically squirming armful. “No, no hospitals!” she gasped out. “Find me!”

Win slammed to a stop, staring down at his armful. _Find her?_ He glanced around, then stepped over to the nearest streetlight. Under the grime the girl’s clothes were good quality and showed signs of careful tending, the red hair dirty but healthy, and he could feel real muscle tone under his hands. Whoever she was, she hadn’t been on the streets all _that_ long—and in the brighter light, her face looked familiar....

He asked, “Someone is looking for you?”

“Y-Yes.”

Win could feel her beginning to shiver, and suspected that it wasn’t from cold. He thought of all the forms entailed in signing someone into a hospital, even for someone that couldn’t be identified— _especially_ for someone that couldn’t be identified. _Right._ He resumed his walk to the base’s gates, and felt his armful resume struggling. “Easy,” he said, “I’m not taking you to a hospital.”

The struggling stopped, and within seconds the girl went limp.

The two guards at the gate saluted as Win approached, eyeing the girl in his arms. “Hey, LT, what’s with the armload?” one of the two asked.

“Found her in a doorway a few blocks back,” Win replied. “She’s not exactly warmly dressed, a night like tonight will kill her.”

“Gotcha. Do you want me to summon a medic, have her taken to the hospital?”

Win shook his head. “No, Airman, she isn’t that bad off, yet.” _I hope._ “A ride to my apartment would be appreciated, though.”

“You got it.”

/\

Win thanked the flight chief that had driven him the rest of the way home for unlocking and opening the door to his apartment. Taking back his keys, he backed into his apartment, kicked the door closed, used the side of his arm to flip on the lights, and headed for his bedroom.

In the bedroom, he deposited his armful on his bed and quickly stripped off her wet clothes (noting the lack of a bra and presence of boxers instead of panties), bundled up her nude body in his blankets, and headed to the kitchen for Ziploc sandwich bags and the hot water faucet—improvised hot water bottles to be placed at strategic locations about his guest’s body, where the blood vessels were closest to the surface of the skin.

His immediate tasks done, he pulled up a chair beside the bed and sat, gazing at the sleeping redhead. He was _certain_ he had seen her somewhere before, he just couldn’t think of _where!_ It wasn’t like he’d been off base much—at all, really, since his wife’s funeral—and the girl was clearly Japanese. And other than the one patrol that had turned into a dogfight with some Chinese fighters, the only official excitement he’d had had been—

Win froze as he finally recalled where he had seen the girl in his bed, in video footage shown to him by some people from an unnamed intelligence organization, of what he had at first assumed to be a cheesy special effects movie blockbuster he’d somehow missed—shaky amateur telephoto footage of the girl in his bed and a handsome young male Oriental throwing balls of energy at each other, eventually ending in the massive explosion of a tea kettle, of all things. The only way they had been able to convince him that it was real were photos of a collapsed mountainside and the news reports he’d seen of the mysterious vigilantes the media was calling the Sailor Senshi.

Of course, the very fact that they had to convince him of the truth had meant that their visit had been a failure. They’d somehow known that his wife had been Wiccan—and so a practitioner of magic—and wanted to know if he had heard of anything like what they’d shown him, anything at all: legends, party tales, rumors, anything. They’d been that desperate for information.

And they’d left explicit orders that he was to report anything he heard along those lines to his commanding officer, whoever he was. Were they or others like them whom his guest was afraid of?

“Well, damn, what do I do now?” he wondered out loud.

 


	2. Waking Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was first published as chapter 10 of my _First Chapters_ collection.

Ranma slowly surfaced from the sea of sleep. This surprised her, in a vague sort of way ... she seemed to remember huddling in a doorway, drifting off to sleep and not expecting to wake up. Had there been a man? Wherever she was it certainly wasn’t in that doorway watching the snow fall. It was too warm, for one thing, and ... there was a hint of bacon in the air, making her stomach demand to be filled for the first time in she couldn’t remember how long.

_Hospital!_ The thought yanked her out of her half-sleep and she bolted upright ... or tried to, anyway, what she actually managed was to twitch and sort of half-roll onto one side. But from the framed photos on top of a dresser against a blue wall, she wasn’t in a hospital.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

At the sound of a male voice she didn’t recognize speaking in accented Japanese, she flopped back and rolled the other way (the best she could manage, with all the blankets wrapped round her) to find a stranger sitting in a chair, a large book open in his lap ... clearly a gaijin, and not just because of the military uniform he wore—blond, paler than Orientals, Western features, though shorter than most Westerners she’d met.

“How old are you?”

Ranma blinked at the question in flawless but accented Japanese. “What?” she asked ... croaked, really, and began to cough.

He instantly set the book on the floor and strode out of the room, returning with a bottle of water. “How long since you’ve had anything in your stomach?”

“I ... I don’t know.”

“Right, small sips until you’re sure it’ll stay down.” He handed her the bottle and waited until she’d taken several sips, luxuriating in the cool liquid trickling down her throat. “Now, how old are you?”

“Eight ... eighteen.”

He sighed and ran a hand across the top of his head. “Well, that simplifies things. Let’s get some food in you. Can you stand?”

“A’ course.” She started to struggle out of the blankets and paused when the blankets covering her top fell away and she realized she was naked.

“Oh, yeah, right, I stripped you down to get you out of your wet clothes and so I could get some hot water bags where they were most needed. Hold on a sec.” He vanished out of the room again and returned with her clothes, now clean. “Let me know when you’re dressed.” He vanished out of the room again.

Ranma waited until the door closed then pushed herself up and pulled on her clothes— _slowly_ pulled on her clothes, that was all she had the energy for. Once dressed, she managed to stagger over to the door and leaned against the wall. “I’m dressed,” she called out, then barely managed to keep from getting smacked by the door when her benefactor opened it.

“Where ... ? Oh.” He chuckled when he found her behind the door trying to glare at him. “Come on, let’s get you into the kitchen.”

Ranma was _not_ happy with how much she had to lean on the man as he helped her into a seat at a kitchen table. She was _very_ happy with the American-style breakfast she found waiting for her—eggs, bacon, buttered pancakes, syrup ... a lot heavier a breakfast than what she’d become used to at the Tendo’s (she ignored a spike of pain at the thought), but considering she couldn’t remember how long it had been since she’d eaten she was _not_ going to complain. She fell on the food as the man headed for the stove.

“Careful!” he called back over his shoulder. “Remember, take it slow, give your stomach time to adjust to being full again.”

Ranma paused, remembering a few times on his training trip with his fath—with Genma that he’d gorged himself after going hungry for awhile, and slowed her rate of intake.

The man watched for a few minutes, nodded, and turned back to the stove. “I’m Lieutenant Blake Wendell, by the way, but you can call me Win. What’s your name?”

Ranma wondered whether her host was placing the family name before or after the personal name, but decided it didn't matter—‘Win’ would do. And Win was waiting for an answer. “Ranma.”

Win paused for a moment, before returning to his cooking. “Ranma? No last name?”

Ranma stopped chewing for a moment, before forcing herself to finish her mouthful. “No ... not anymore. If they don’t want me, I don’t see any reason why I should recognize them.” She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice, and succeeded more than usual as she remembered her mother’s tearstained face. With that memory a thought struck her, and after a moment she added, “Actually, make it Tatsuno Ranma. That’s my Mom’s family, before she married. It’s not official, but she deserves the recognition.”

“Ah.” Win finished cooking, then put his own plate on the table across from Ranma and sat down. “Tell me about the people hunting you.” At Ranma’s hesitation, he added, “You’re on a US military base at the moment, so I doubt they can find you. But if they can, since you’re in my home I should know what risk I’m running, hm?”

Ranma hesitated for a long moment more, than sighed and nodded. “Yeah, you should.” She thought for a moment about how much she could include and still be believable. “It started when Pop ... my father and his best friend were drinking at a bar, and bitching up a storm, when a businessman sharing the bar with them took an interest....”

/\

“ ... and that’s when ya found me, I guess.”

Win finished chewing the last of his breakfast and swallowed, then leaned back in his seat and considered the tale he had just heard; it seemed normal enough, if brutally ugly ... a businessman lusting after a young girl and throwing money at her father, nothing that hadn’t been happening ever since one man had accumulated more wealth and power than other men. There were just two problems with it. First ... “Ranma, you don’t think this Schwei is spending a _lot_ of money for a living sex toy? Yes, you probably clean up really nice, but there are plenty of other girls just as beautiful and a lot less trouble to acquire.”

Ranma crossed her arms, mulishly stubborn. “Maybe the pursuit is part a’ the thrill.”

“No, I don’t think so. I’m not saying you’ve lied, but you didn’t tell me everything. So how about filling in the blanks?”

Ranma stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. “You aren’t gonna believe it.”

“Try me, you might be surprised. I’ve seen some incredible things in my time.”

She hesitated, then slowly began again, ‘filling in the blanks’, picking up speed as she went. And an incredible story it was, filled with magic springs and their weird water curses, Amazons living in the backwaters of China, fiancées and rivals, an underground Martial Arts subculture that belonged in comic books, ending in a fight with an arrogant prince with superpowers. He could see why she didn’t really think he’d believe her, he was just surprised she was willing to tell it at all, much less spilling it out the way she had. She must have been desperate to tell her story to _anyone_ , however unbelievable others would find it, just to get it off her chest. And he had to admit, if it hadn’t been for those government agents and their home video, he wouldn’t have believed a word of it.

And that was the second problem ... He considered those men from the unnamed agency with the amateur video. They hadn’t actually _ordered_ him not to discuss it with anyone, probably because they had thought he wouldn’t expect anyone to believe him ... or maybe they thought there wasn’t any point to it, that long-term secrecy was impossible. But they _had_ given him an explicit order. He had an excellent reputation as a pilot and an officer so he had some leeway, but not much. The question was whether the girl across the table from him would play ball.

He waited until she finally wound down (there hadn’t been much difference in her story once Schwei entered the picture, just more men in the mob sent after her was all). When she at last fell silent, staring anxiously—no, _fearfully_ —at him, he shrugged. “I believe you.”

“Just like that?” Ranma scoffed. “Yeah, right, let’s humor the crazy girl.”

“No, not ‘just like that’. Sure, a curse turning a boy into a girl and superhero martial artists is a bit much, but beyond the Senshi publicly fighting _something_ in Tokyo, the truth is, Schwei isn’t the only one hunting you. A few months ago some government suits showed me a video of that fight with the prince you were in; they had some work convincing me it was real, I’d never seen anything like it outside of a special-effects blockbuster.”

Ranma stiffened, eyes widening. “What!? They _know_?”

Win chuckled. “Ranma, you and that flying man you were fighting brought down a good-sized chunk of a mountain, people are going to notice. _Governments_ are going to notice.” He sobered, and leaned forward. “They ordered me to keep an eye out for you, report back if I learned anything.”

Now Ranma wasn’t just stiff, she was _tense_ , eyes darting around the room, pausing on the windows; if he hadn't had to help her into her seat, he suspected she’d already be gone. “So _that’s_ why you took me in. Kinda stupid to tell me before your back-up shows up, though.”

“No, it _isn’t_ why I took you in, I didn’t recognize you until I’d already stripped you down and bundled you up with blankets and bags of hot water.” Careful to keep his hands in sight on the table, he continued, “But they don’t know you’re here ... _yet_. I am ‘a man under authority’—” He grinned slightly, though he didn’t expect her to catch the Biblical reference. “—but I figure I have a _little_ leeway in how I carry out my orders.”

Ranma stopped looking around the room, focusing on her host. “You don’t trust those above ya, so you’re giving me a chance ta run.”

“Yes ... and no.” Win ran his fingers through his hair, sighing. “They’re people, just like everyone else, some good and some bad. But right now even the good ones must be desperate, or they wouldn’t have looked me up just because my wife was a Wiccan.” At Ranma’s blank look, he shrugged. “It’s a religion, like your Shinto, kind of. Think about it, would you expect any of your people to know all about how you can throw fireballs around, just because they’re married to someone that practices Shinto?”

“No,” Ranma responded, shaking her head.

“No. So they’re desperate, and desperate people can do stupid things.”

“So like I said, you’re giving me a chance ta run before they do something desperate.”

“If that’s what you choose to do. But you can’t keep running forever, now that they know you’re out there one government or another _will_ catch you sooner or later even if Schwei doesn’t. And from what you said, legally you don’t exist. So what you need is a way to let the suits find you instead of Schwei, while being able to keep you safe from any stupidity the suits might be tempted to come up with.”

“Yeah, right,” Ranma scoffed, “and I suppose you have some idea how ta make that happen?”

“Actually, I do.” Win leaned back in his seat and grinned. “Will you marry me?”


	3. Columbus

“Will I what?” Ranma stared her host, eyes wide. “Could ya say that again? I thought I heard ya ask me to marry you.”

“I did.” Win leaned back in his chair and rubbed at his face with a sigh. “You can’t keep running, sooner or later _someone_ is going to catch you ... and if no one does, you’ll probably end up dying in a doorway or alley, or turning to prostitution—anything to stay below the radar. So you need a way to turn yourself in to the suits without just disappearing, and marrying me will give us that.”

“But ... but ... would that even be legal? I mean, as a girl I don’t exist—no birth record, no medical records, no school records, nothin’!”

“I know,” Win agreed, “and that’s why you being eighteen simplifies things—if you were under eighteen I’d have to try to adopt you instead, and that would have been a problem.” At Ranma’s incredulous stare, he sighed. “The point is to create a recognized relationship between us so that if you just disappear I can get loud and not be brushed off. They might be able to make you vanish into a black hole but they can’t do the same thing to _me_ , I have _friends_.”

“I don’t get it. Why can we get married if you can’t adopt me? Don’t you need records either way?”

“For a _legal_ marriage, yes. But you aren’t thinking about it like an American ... or at least, like a lot of Americans, millions of us. For us, the legal forms are just an acknowledgement of a religious truth—if we stand before a pastor and exchange our vows then we’re married, whatever the law says. Which means that if you then disappear and I publicly demand to know what happened to _my wife_ , those millions of Americans will take that status seriously—and so take _me_ seriously—whatever the law says.”

“I—” Ranma pushed herself up out of her seat and began to pace—the kitchen was small, but she needed to _move_ ... because Win’s statement had resonated with Ranma’s own code, that she had evolved in reaction to her father’s poor example. (Not that she had the strength yet for much more than walking back and forth, it was going to take a little while for her ki reserves to recover.) Finally, she turned to look at Win. “Ya aren’t wrong. If we swear we’re married then we’re _married_ , whatever the law says.”

“Yes.”

Ranma waited but Win didn’t add anything to his one-word response, and she finally sat back down and shrugged. “I dunno if I’m _that_ desperate yet.”

Win sighed and shrugged himself. “You’ll have a little while to make up your mind, I have to go to work. I won’t be back until tomorrow morning, please don’t leave my apartment until then—anyone will be able to tell you aren’t military at a glance, so wandering around you _will_ be stopped by the military police and you don’t have any identification. You can eat whatever you want in the kitchen, feel free to cook if you can. Don’t turn on the TV, they can probably tell if anyone’s using the cable, but you can read any of my books ... can you read English?” When a bemused Ranma nodded, he continued, “My taste in music runs to country, folk, and celtic. It isn’t much like anything I’ve heard on the radio here in Japan, but try out whatever discs you want. Oh, and feel free to grab a shower, you need it as bad as your clothes did.”

With that he was out the door, leaving Ranma to the empty apartment.

/\

Ranma grabbed a quick shower then checked out the books on the shelf (glancing over the photographs on a few of the shelves of her host and a smiling earth-haired woman a few years older than Ranma—she wondered who the woman was, there certainly wasn’t any evidence of a woman living the apartment), but those books she checked out ran to ‘westerns’ and mysteries. Her English wasn’t _that_ good so the mysteries were out ... the one she tried, she was sure she was missing all sorts of background that she needed to really understand what was going on. The western she picked out pretty much at random was better—simple plot and an implicit honor code she could approve of—but she was too distracted to immerse herself in the adventure as Win’s offer and everything he’d said around it kept circling in her mind. And it was too quiet.

Finally she grabbed a music disc at random—she didn’t recognize a single name or title in the collection—and put it in the player on looping random shuffle just so there’d be other voices in the apartment, keeping the volume down enough that the neighbors shouldn’t be able to hear it. As the unfamiliar music started she began practicing what she knew of Tai Chi, slowed down to the meditation speed that the size of the apartment’s main room and her still-recovering strength permitted.

And then as she flowed through kata after kata, the words of one of the songs eventually caught her attention—she had no idea how many times it had already repeated—and her current kata slowed and then stopped as she listened. Listened as someone sang of being lost in a world where nothing felt right, and whenever panic set in dreaming of Columbus sailing into the unknown, until peace comes to a traveling heart.

The song ended, but she didn’t hear the new song, not really, beyond having to do with Ireland somehow. Instead she drifted over to the window, surprised to find the world outside covered by night. She had gotten so caught up in her thoughts and her katas that she hadn’t even eaten since the breakfast Win had cooked.

 _Win ... he said not to leave the apartment_. But still ...

She hurried to the kitchen and searched the cupboards, checked the fridge, and hastily slapped together a couple ham and cheese sandwiches, grabbed some blankets out of the closet, then headed out the front door. It took a few moments, checking the side of the apartment building, to find a route up the side to the roof and just as few to leap up from window to window, even as weak as she was. Once on the roof she spread out one of the blankets on the slanted roof just below the peak, scarfed down the sandwiches, wrapped herself in the other blanket, and lay down on the first blanket to gaze up at her only constant friends, the stars.

/oOo\

Brigadier General Gene Layton winced when his cell phone went off, with _that_ ring tone. He hastily rose from his seat at his residence’s dining room table with an apologetic look for his wife standing in the kitchen doorway. “Hopefully this will only take a few minutes, dear.”

His wife sighed as she looked down at the two plates full of steaming steak, mashed potatoes, and green beans. “Hurry before dinner gets cold.”

“I will.” Hurrying to his personal study, Layton closed and locked the door and pulled out his phone. “General Layton speaking, what’s happening?”

“ _The target has left Lieutenant Blake’s apartment and ... and she just went up the side of the building like a mountain goat.... Apparently, she’s having a picnic on the roof.... Make that a nap_.”

“ ... A nap.”

“ _Yes, sir_.”

Layton thought rapidly, then sighed. “Widen the observation parameter, remember the target’s ability to use roofs to move around. Do _not_ attempt to intercept unless she tries to leave. If she stays on the roof or goes back into the apartment, all well and good.”

“ _Widen the observation parameter, do_ not _attempt to intercept unless she tries to leave. Understood_.”

Ending the call, Layton stared down at the phone in his hand for a long moment. “I _hope_ all is well and good. Win, you’re too good a pilot—too good a man—to be putting your career at risk like this. We _need_ you, what the _hell_ are you playing at?” He finally put the phone in his pocket with a sigh and headed back to the dining room ... this was the night that his wife pulled out all the stops for dinner, and both of them had been looking forward to it all week.

/oOo\

Hundreds of miles to the south, another girl sat on a roof staring up at the stars that were now the only thing she shared with Ranma, ignoring her slight shivering—the nighttime temperature at Tokyo wasn’t as cold as at Misawa Air Base, but it was cold enough. Her raven-hued hair had once been long and luxuriant, her personal treasure, before it had been cut off by a flying ki-hardened bandana that had come within a few inches of taking off her head instead. After that she had kept it trimmed just below her ears ... until Ranma had had to leave town. Then she had let it grow out to shoulder length and braided it into a pigtail like her former fiancé’s, just so she could see the shame in Nabiki and the fathers’ eyes every time they saw her.

“Akane, come to bed. You have school in the morning, and you don’t want to catch cold.”

Akane smiled at the soft voice below her, of the only person in the world that she _knew_ loved her unconditionally. Sayuri and Yuka were friends, but they weren’t _that_ close; Nodoka was wonderful now that no one was afraid of the seppuku contract anymore, but she had to be clinging to the daughters of her old friend as a replacement for the son she thought was dead; Akane didn’t even want to think about her father and middle sister. “You know that’s a myth, Kasumi.”

“Perhaps not as much of one as you might think. Weather may not cause colds, but it can make you more likely to catch cold, and harder to fight it off. And there’s no point in making yourself miserable just because Ranma might be.”

“I know, it’s just ...” She sighed and rose to a crouch. “Get out of the way, I’m coming in.” She waited a moment, then dropped off the roof, twisted to grab the edge, and swung through the open window to land beside her sister. Rising to her feet, she embraced Kasumi as tears leaked out of eyes clenched shut. “I miss him ... her. I miss her.”

After a moment, Kasumi’s arms rose to return the hug. “I miss her too, little sis, I miss her too.”

/oOo\

Win yawned as he opened his apartment door, then hesitated at the smell of frying sausage. His wife had always had a breakfast ready when he’d pulled an all-nighter, but Ranma wouldn’t have known when he was likely to come home. Shrugging, he headed to the kitchen to find the redhead at the stove frying a couple sausages with the package of the rest sitting on the counter next to the egg carton waiting their turn.

Ranma glanced over her shoulder as he walked in and forced a stiff smile, then grabbed a couple more sausages from the package. “Have a seat, breakfast will be ready in a few minutes. How so you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled is fine.” Win grabbed silverware and glasses and orange juice for them both, then sat at the table and waited silently as Ranma finished cooking breakfast. The pair ate in a continuing tense silence, and once they were finished Win pushed back from the table and was just opening his mouth to ask about her decision when Ranma swallowed and hastily spoke up.

“I was listening to your music—interesting songs, I’ve never heard anything like it—and it made me think. Don’t call me Ranma anymore, I’ve decided to go by Toshiko instead. ‘Ranma’ might be too well known by all the wrong people and Toshiko seems like it fits.”

“ ‘Toshiko’? Why is it appropriate? What was the song?”

“It’s the full name, Mom’s clan name of Tatsuno with Toshiko, that fits, you can make it into Dragon of the Sea. The song, I didn’t get the title ... ‘I dream of Columbus’?”

 _‘Columbus’, Mary Black_. _Tatsuno Toshiko—tatsu no otoshigo_. The Japanese name for the seahorse. She was right, it fit, whatever she had decided. “To—”

“I’ll do it.”

“... What?”

Ranma—Toshiko—was staring at the table top, blushing furiously, but her voice was unhesitating. “You’re right, I can’t keep running, but if you aren’t sure you can trust your bosses, I can’t either. I’ll marry you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A _long_ time back, on the now-defunct Anime Addventure site (I _really_ wish someone would start up another site like that, I'd cross-post my stories in a heartbeat), when someone had asked about alternate names for Ranma I suggested Kaiba, a name I got from the FF.net story _Blood Calls Out for Blood_ by Miriani. It was pointed out to me that "Kaiba" is just "sea horse" in Japanese, but that they actually call it "tatsu no otoshigo"—and that for that "Tatsuno Toshiko" will work just fine. As a result, "Tatsuno" has become my go-to name for Nodoka's birth clan name.
> 
> Here's the lyrics for the song mentioned in the chapter that gives the chapter its name:
> 
> Better keep your distance from this whale  
> Better keep your boat from going astray  
> Find yourself a partner and treat them well  
> Try to give them shelter night and day  
> 'Cos here in this blue light  
> Far away from the fireside  
> Things can get twisted and crazy and crowded  
> You can't even feel right
> 
> So you dream of Columbus, every time the panic starts  
> You dream of Columbus, with your maps and your beautiful charts  
> You dream of Columbus, with an ache in your travelling heart
> 
> See how the cormorant swoops and dives  
> Must be some thrill to go that deep  
> Down to the basement of this life  
> Down to where the mermaid gently sleeps  
> Not like here in this blue light  
> Far away from the fireside  
> Where things can get twisted and haunted and crowded  
> You can't even feel alright
> 
> So you dream of Columbus, every time the panic starts  
> You dream of Columbus, with your maps and your beautiful charts  
> You dream of Columbus, with an ache in your travelling heart
> 
> And as tide must ebb and flow  
> I am dragged down under  
> And I wait the livelong day  
> For an end to my hunger
> 
> So I dream of Columbus, every time that the panic starts  
> I dream of Columbus, with my maps and my beautiful charts  
> I dream of Columbus, and there's peace in a travelling heart  
> I dream of Columbus


	4. Calculated Risks

_Several days later:_

“You want me to what?” Lieutenant Stacy Vernon grinned at Win’s blush, in spite of the worry flickering through the back of her mind.

“I want you to hunt down David and bring him here so that the two of you can act as witnesses for Toshiko and my marriage. He’s not answering his phone, and I need to track down Father Seward. Then I need you to take Toshiko shopping while I report to General Layton, she needs ... well, everything.”

That flicker of worry was getting stronger—this kind of plunge was _not_ normal for her friend, and he didn’t have the besotted look she had seen more than a few times (though mostly in high school, including once in the mirror). And if his wife had been an indication, the young Japanese woman in clean but tattered clothing was anything but his type. For that matter it hadn’t been _that_ long since his wife’s death, and the way he’d ducked out early during their last night out said he wasn’t over it yet. Stacy carefully asked, “Are you sure you don’t have that order reversed? A girl really ought to dress up for her wedding, even if it’s this sudden.”

A grimace flashed across Toshiko’s face, and Win caught it and had to turn a snort into an unconvincing cough. “Yes, well, normally you’d be right, but we’re on something of a schedule. We _really_ need to get the ceremony performed before I see the General. Do you think you can find David?”

Stacy sighed but nodded. “Yeah, I have an idea of a few places he might be hanging when you’re not hanging with us. I’ll see if I can run him down.”

The next few hours were positively surreal. Most of that time was spent tracking down David (really, she ought to have checked the officer’s club _first_ ), and the pair returned to the apartment to find Father Seward waiting ... and the chaplain didn’t seem any happier about the ceremony than the bride, and _she_ seemed to think she was going to her execution. Though she kept a stiff upper lip that would have done any British gentleman proud, reciting her lines in a clear and steady voice.

And now Stacey was staring at a printed out marriage license and certificate with a _lot_ of empty spaces—Win’s information was all there but the only entry for the bride was Toshiko’s name and age, and while Father Seward’s name was present his signature was not ... Stacy suspected because of the line right above it stating that that signature meant he knew all the _rest_ of the certificate was complete and accurate.

Stacy looked up at her friend. “Win, there’s a lot of empty spaces there.”

“Yeah, there are,” he agreed, “that’s one of the things I need to talk to the General about.”

“Win ... Mandy ...”

He smiled wistfully when she trailed off. “Mandy would understand ... _does_ understand, I’m sure. I know, this is weird and I can’t explain right now. I _might_ be able to after my meeting with General Layton, but maybe not then. Trust me?”

Stacy exchanged glances with an equally confused David, and sighed as she scribbled in her signature. As David added his own signature she grinned at Toshiko. “Looks like you’re all mine for the next few hours, let’s go shopping!”

Oddly, Toshiko’s air of facing her own execution actually seemed to deepen.

/oOo\

General Layton hit the speaker icon on his cell phone and set it to one side of his somewhat paper-strewn desk, then straightened in his office chair (customized at his own expense). “Send him in.”

As he watched Lieutenant “Win” Blake enter his office, he _really_ hoped one of the finest fighter pilots he knew was here to tell him what the _hell_ was going on. It had been almost a week since Win had brought the girl that had helped bring down part of a mountain to his apartment, General Layton had no idea what the base chaplain and Win’s two best friends in the squadron had to do with said target, though from what the team had overheard when everyone split up in front of his apartment building, at least so far as Stacy and ... Toshiko? ... were concerned shopping was involved. That and the fact that Win had headed toward his office (on foot, which was odd, it was a bit of a walk) were the only things that had kept the General from ordering the team to try and take down the target—Toshiko—instead of just continuing to shadow them—well, that and concerns that the tranquilizers would work too well ... or not work at all; they were strong enough to take down the strongest human known, which actually risked killing the tiny girl Toshiko appeared to be, but the feats she’d pulled the few times their searchers had managed to observe her, much less that amateur video, very much said otherwise. (He had to wonder how well the team would manage that surveillance now that the pair of young women were off-base, or if they’d handed it off to another team he didn’t know about. They’d almost have had to, he’d think, gaijin didn’t exactly blend in.)

But he didn’t let any of his worry and confusion show on his face as he returned the salute that indicated Win has something to report. “So, Lieutenant, Styles says you need to see me on an urgent matter, what’s going on?”

“Sir, it’s about the young woman in the ... interesting video I was shown a few months ago, and instructed to let you know if I learned anything about her.”

“Yes, I remember. Interesting, indeed.” Layton leaned back in his chair. “So you have something for me?”

“Yes, sir, her name is Toshiko Tatsuno. I found her huddled in a doorway just off base in the middle of a snowstorm. She’s been on the run and living on the streets for most of a year, dodging a _lot_ of people hunting her. Would you know anything about that ... sir?”

Layton stiffened at the oh-so-polite and extremely unpolitic question for a member of the military to ask their superior officer—at least with _that_ tone of voice—but after a moment forced himself to relax. The situation wasn’t exactly amenable to standard military protocol. In more ways than one, now that he thought about it. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “No, Win, so far as I know the ... people that provided the video only had a few people looking for her, and only found her a couple times before you carried her onto the base. If they’d had so much as the name you just gave me, do you think you’d have seen that video?”

Win’s eyes widened at the use of his personal name and the fact that the General was already aware of Toshiko’s presence on base, then narrowed. “You said ‘they’. Not ‘we’?”

Layton chuckled. “No, they aren’t Air Force, or even ... officially ... part of the government. _Un_ officially, the Company has had ties with all levels of the government and military since the Second World War. It deals with Things that Go Bump in the Night—fortunately most also Go _Boom_ in the Night, but not all.”

Win stiffened. “Is Toshiko one of these ‘things that go bump in the night’?” he asked, voice hard.

“No, not at all,” Layton hastened to assure him. “What she _is_ , maybe, is someone that can help deal with the threats. She’s a bit ... louder ... than the Company prefers, but things are getting to the point that it can’t be hidden much longer, anyway. The ‘magical girls’ apparently fighting something in Tokyo are pretty much blowing the lid off ... even if most people are still dismissing them as some sort of special effects stunt and doctored videos, that isn’t going to last—the _governments_ know better, us and the Japanese at least, I’m sure. But even if those school children weren’t so active, with the internet sooner or later something would slip beyond anyone’s ability to cover it up or explain it away.”

He rubbed at his face with a tired sigh. “Besides, the Company has been worried about the casualty rate for quite a while—for field operatives they recruit only the best physical specimens with intelligence scores to make an Ivy League school weep for joy, their basic training makes Paris Island look like kindergarten, and all too often the mission casualty rates still resemble a desperate rear-guard action when they don’t resemble the Alamo.”

Win was silent for awhile, expression thoughtful, then quietly asked, “And what if she says no?”

“Then she says no. You _cannot_ draft people into this kind of war. If she’s just willing to maybe help train some people, or even just show what she can do, it’ll help. Even just some names will help; our penetration of Japan sucks, much less the rest of the Far East, and we badly need to coordinate with whoever is fighting the good fight here. If she doesn’t want to help at all, maybe just her name will give us the thread we need to pull.”

Win gazed at his superior officer for a long moment, eyes narrowed again, and finally nodded. “You’re a good man, Gene, I’ll trust you on this.” He reached into his pocket to pull out a folded sheet of paper, and reached across the desk to hand it to Layton. “Do you think your ‘Company’ can fill in the blanks?”

Layton opened the folded sheet, and his eyebrows rose at the sight of a marriage license and certificate with a number of empty lines.

“My _wife’s_ original name wasn’t the one she used when we exchanged our vows—before she was permanently transformed into a woman it was Ranma Saotome, and right now she doesn’t have a legal identity. If the Company could arrange for an identity under her new name so we can fill in the blanks and Father Seward can add his signature, it would buy some good will. That’s a copy, by the way.”

Layton slowly nodded, mind racing as he grappled with that statement. It certainly explained what Win had been up to before visiting, even if the surprise left his boss scrambling to catch up. “They should be able to do that, though that identity will probably be American. Like I said, our penetration of Japan sucks. I imagine they’ll send someone to discuss the details of why someone that young and clearly not raised American has U.S. citizenship, along with what Toshiko is willing to give us. As much as I’d like to hear all the details myself, I have a base to run. I’ll just have to wait for the report.”

“Of course, I and my wife will be ... well, willing at least if not exactly happy to talk. Oh, and you’ll want to pass along word to be careful investigating her original name, both because from what she told me it’ll lead to some people that are both bizarrely unpredictable and _dangerous_ , and because it’ll probably trip some flags. There’s no way in hell _someone_ in the Japanese government isn’t keeping an eye on Nerima.”

Layton nodded, noting the location he’d just been given—deliberately, he was sure.

“Good.” Win rose from his seat. “Unless there’s anything else, I’d better get back to my ... our ... apartment to wait for Stacy to bring my wife back. Oh, and you’ll need to let the guards know to let Toshiko back in. She’ll need an ID once she has a legal identity.”

“Oh course.” Layton rose to his feet as well, and leaned over his desk to offer his hand. “You’re doing a kind thing here, Win, and took a hell of a risk doing it. I’d say welcome to the club, but it isn’t exactly a party.”

Win’s eyebrows rose again, but he shook Layton’s hand before leaving. Layton dropped back into his seat and blew out his breath in relief, then asked, “So what do you think?”

The voice from his phone replied, “ _I think your lieutenant is a quick-witted and incredibly courageous and generous young man. I wish we’d run into him earlier_.”

“Yes, he is,” Layton agreed with a chuckle. “But I meant how you think we should deal with this.”

“ _We’ll have someone out first thing in the morning to discuss Toshiko’s new background. But we’ll probably want to hold off on actually interviewing her until her new identity is created—after all, as your lieutenant’s new wife we know where to find her_.”

“True, but make it this evening if you can. Blake has work tomorrow, and we don’t want to draw attention to him than we have to by interrupting it.”

“ ... _That’s probably doable, we’ll contact you when we have a name for the person assigned to make contact_.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

The pair made their farewells, and Layton sighed as he slipped the phone into his pocket and turned to his desktop computer. As important as his work with the Company was, he had to get back to his _real_ job. And to let the guards know to let Toshiko back in, of course.

/\

Win was light-headed, almost hyperventilating in the cold winter air as he walked out of the administration building. He’d done it! He’d bearded the lion in his den and walked out unscathed. Of course they weren’t out of the wood yet and he was putting a lot of trust in people he didn’t even know....

 _General Layton knows them, and he’s as good a man as you said he is. You aren’t trusting them, you’re trusting_ him.

Which was true, but didn’t make him any less nervous about the situation. Still, he hadn’t been kidding when he’d told Toshiko that she couldn’t keep going as she had, that they had to trust _somebody_.

He grinned at that thought as he pulled his phone out of his pocket—trust only went so far, after all.

/oOo\

Ranma— _Toshiko, don’t you forget it!_ —was in hell. Stacy was being remarkably patient, considering all the questions that even Toshiko could tell she had clamped behind her teeth, but she’d stayed focused on her assigned task ... and that had been the gateway into the Fiery Realm. Taking the measurements for Toshiko’s sizes had set her cheeks burning, and the questions on types and styles of underwear hadn’t done a thing to decrease the heat even though this was hardly the first time she’d gone clothes shopping, even clothes shopping for herself.

 _Yeah, but those times you were buying a costume, for an act. This is for_ you.

This wasn’t the first time she’d gone shopping for _her_ , of course, but Kasumi had known her—the Eldest Tendo sister had been both understanding and gentle. Neither applied to a Stacy hiding her concerns behind enthusiasm.

The phone Win had given her ringing in the pouch slung around her hip shot her adrenaline through the roof even as it was a relief from her thoughts and memories.

Scrabbling at her pouch, she quickly pulled out the phone and flipped it open. “Yes?”

“ _No need to close the barn doors_.”

She gusted out a breath at the code phrase Win had come up with, relief and disappointment warring within her. He was right, she couldn’t go on as she had. More than that he was her husband now, she didn’t want to simply abandon him after the risks he’d taken for her no matter what he had said. But she was completely helpless, with no control over her future at all, and she _hated_ it.

 _Dream of Columbus_. She’d done some research on Columbus a few days ago, when Win was home so no one would think anything of someone using his internet, and she had mixed feelings about the man—certainly there was a warning there of how desperation could corrupt character, but she couldn’t deny his courage and vision. And it was a _good_ song.

She managed to force her voice to stay light as she said, “Good ta hear. At this rate it’ll be a few hours before Stacy’s done with me, see ya then.”

“ _See you then_.”

She closed the phone and put it back in the pouch, and noticed Stacy’s curious look. Only then did she realize that she’d switched back to Japanese when she’d answered the phone and her companion apparently wasn’t a speaker. “That was Win, just telling me I can come home,” she assured her, then paled when Stacy’s eyes widened and she realized what she’d said.

“Toshiko, what have you gotten Win mixed up in!?”

 _At least she managed ta keep her voice down_ , Toshiko thought wryly. Fortunately, she and Win had discussed just how much they could let his friends know before he’d called them ... which wasn’t much. “I didn’t _get_ Win mixed up in anything, he did that all on his own. I’ve been on the run for most of a year without even my name for my own, not really. He found me in a doorway just off yer base, dying of starvation and exposure in the middle of a snowstorm. He took me in ta nurse back to health, in his apartment instead a’ the hospital when I ... said not ta go there.” She ran a hand under the braid down her back (considerably longer than it had been almost a year ago, she hadn’t bothered to cut it). “That’s really all I can tell ya.”

“Toshiko, he’s my _friend_ ,” Stacy hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had taken an interest in the conversation.

“I get it, I really do. But there’s nothing you can do ta help, more than ya already are, and any more might be dangerous ... _more_ dangerous, just knowing Win might be dangerous, thanks ta me. Anything more, you’ll need ta talk ta Win.”

Stacy grimaced, apparently she didn’t think much of her chances with that. “But General Layton knows.”

“That’s your base commander, right? Yeah, he knows ... now.”

Taking a deep breath, Stacy pasted on a smile. “In that case let’s get busy! You and Win have a wedding to celebrate.”

Toshiko managed not to wince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way how Columbus describes the aboriginal inhabitants of the Caribbean changes over time, and how he treated them under the pressure of trying to make a profit from the islands where he was made governor, makes for very disturbing reading. But like Toshiko says, there's no denying his courage and vision. And it really is a wonderful song. _Pastwatch_ , a time-travel fixit book by Orson Scott Card, is a fun read.
> 
> I was doing a little more research on how seahorses are seen in Asia and found an interesting TV Tropes page, Seahorses are Dragons (https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/SeahorsesAreDragons ). It turns out that tatsu-no-otoshigo literally means "dragon's bastard child."


	5. Camouflage

Jason Evans braced himself as he knocked on the door to Lieutenant Blake’s apartment, preparing for at best suspicion, at worst outright hostility. He just hoped that he’d be able to keep the suspicion from growing worse by hiding how hasty and slapdash the prepared background was. he _really_ would have liked more time to get ready for this meeting, but between the General’s insistence on getting it done by the evening rather than the next morning and the Company-wide argument over jurisdiction, he’d been scrambling.

_Well, to be fair it wasn’t_ quite _a Company-wide argument—all the grunts want is Toshiko’s help blowing things up, and since her abilities seem to be innate the techies won’t be interested until the geeks can turn those abilities into some toys they can play with. But the geeks and the spook!_ At least when the shouting ended the others had recognized that Security, as the most well-rounded of the departments (a quality not usually appreciated by the others, since it existed due to Security’s remit of keeping the other departments’ ‘fun’ from getting them all killed or blowing the conspiracy wide open), was the best to make ‘first contact’ here—and that perhaps it would be a good idea to recruit or develop some _real_ diplomats. As a _secret_ organization with some half-decent memory suppressants they hadn’t really needed any until recently.

Then the door opened to reveal Lieutenant Blake, eyebrow rising at the clear civilian in the middle of the base. “Yes, can I help you?”

Evans held out a hand. “Jared Davidson, I’m here about the issues you talked to General Layton about, about your wife.”

Blake tensed. “Oh, that was quick, I didn’t expect you to visit for a few days.” He shook the offered hand and stepped back to let Evans in (and perhaps _just_ coincidentally to get out of the line of sight of anyone that might be hiding nearby), and Evans stepped into the apartment.

Glancing around the apartment, Evans saw Toshiko appear in the doorway to the kitchen and bowed. “Toshiko Tatsuno, I’m Jared Davidson. I’ve been sent to work out the details of your background.”

Toshiko returned the bow, and Blake waved toward the couch across from the TV. “Have a seat. Toshiko, could you fetch another chair?”

The redhead disappeared back into the kitchen, and Evans sat and laid the folder he’d brought on the coffee table between the couch and TV while Blake sat in the recliner positioned at an angle. A moment later Toshiko reappeared, took in the scene with a glance, and positioned her own chair where she’d be out of Evans’ immediate reach and facing both the window and front door. Evans approved, not that he let them see that he’d noticed. ( _Her_ , rather, as a fighter pilot Blake’s situational awareness was trained to a different situation.)

“So,” Evans started as Toshiko took her seat, “we were able to take care of the earliest foundation.” He opened the folder to reveal a birth certificate and some print-outs of newspaper articles. “Toshiko, you were born to Rayner Lowe from Elk City, Idaho—there was a fire there that gutted much of the downtown a decade back, including the local newspaper office, but not before their records were uploaded to the Cloud. He was in the Air Force assigned to this base, maintaining the fighter jets. Your mother is Ayaka Hideyoshi, a girl he met while on vacation in Tokyo. You were born seven months after they married. Your disappearance here while your mother was out shopping was reported in the Elk City newspaper, but not here in Japan. Your parents died in a plane crash on a trip back home a year later. They actually existed, by the way, and married here. The plane crash was when they were returning from a vacation to introduce her to his parents. His parents died a few years ago in a car crash; her parents disowned her when she married a gaijin.”

He pushed the open folder across to the pair and, as Blake picked up the newspaper articles and started thumbing through them, continued, “Toshiko, that makes you a U.S. citizen, while giving a reason why you’ve never been out of Japan and don’t know anything about your family in the U.S. Now we need to fill in the details of what you’ve been doing since you were kidnapped as a baby.”

“Oh, that’s easy, I was kidnapped by a wandering martial artist that wanted an heir and didn’t bother to check if the baby he was stealing was a boy, and decided to keep me when he found out his mistake. We spent the next almost two decades wandering all over Japan and China visiting a bunch of dojos and monasteries with me learning their Arts while disguised as a boy.”

Evans stared for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Ah ... we do want it to be at least somewhat believable.” Giving up on any possibility of delicacy, he waved at Toshiko’s chest. “Besides, there’s no way you’d be hiding _those_.”

Blake choked as Toshiko began to laugh, laughter that to Evans’ experienced ear definitely had a bitter edge. At his questioning look Toshiko got herself under control. “Yeah, that was pretty much the story of my life till about two years ago—though I really _was_ a guy for all’a that, before my stupid father got us both cursed.” She reached up to heft her breasts. “I got these by taking a swim in a pool at a place in China called Jusenkyo a couple years ago, but I was still a guy most’a the time for a year after that, before my curse got locked.” Evans tried to hide his doubts behind a carefully blank expression, but apparently that wasn’t enough ... at least, this time Toshiko’s laughter lacked the previous bitter edge. “What, you’re a super-secret group fighting the Things that Go Bump in the Night and you don’t believe in magic?”

“We ... mostly deal with aliens, psionicists, and monsters that have a natural if alien heritage,” Evans replied carefully. “We _have_ had a few ... encounters ... that we couldn’t explain, but put it down to variations of psionics that we can’t replicate yet. Was ‘magic’ how you brought down a mountainside? Can you demonstrate it?”

“No, that wasn’t magic ... well, it was kinda magic. I can do this—” She lifted a hand, and for a moment a ball of shining blue light appeared above her palm, growing to the size of a baseball. “—but it isn’t magic, it’s ki. And on my best day I couldn’t bring down a mountain. For that matter neither could Herb, as ridiculous as his ki reserves were. But the kettle he accidentally blew up _was_ magic, and it _was_ powerful enough ta do that, not that it was supposed to. It just couldn’t handle Herb’s ki blast and ... overloaded, I guess. Nearly killed me while it was at it.”

From how tight the expression on her face had gotten Evans suspected that she wished, at least a little, that it _had_ killed her, and he hastily changed the subject. “Well, even if someone actually carted you around for years like that, the story needs to be believable.”

Toshiko shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be believable? I’ve actually been to all those places, can tell ya who else was there, what they look like, what styles I learned. We don’t need ta invent anything.”

“That’s actually a fair point,” Blake added. He glanced at his wife out of the corner of his eye, and Evans suspected that he’d caught her dark thoughts as well. “Was it Lincoln that said that no one has a good enough memory to be a really good liar? This way she can answer any questions. Toshiko, do you think if we contact any of the people at some of those dojos and monasteries and let them know what’s going on they’ll play along if anyone comes asking?”

Frowning thoughtfully, Toshiko started counting off on her fingers. “Let’s see ... Hiro Yuuta at Kawasaki, Yunokawa Minoru at Hedono ... Tanaka-sensei is probably dead by now, he was dying when me and ... when Genma and me visited, but his heir should play along. They all said I could drop by again, so long as Genma wasn’t with me. For the rest ...” She shrugged. “We can just say I was dyeing my hair and pretending ta be a boy with a fake name a’ Saotome Ranma—Ranma Saotome ta you guys, I guess—kept that up until I ballooned up top a couple years ago—” She hefted her breasts again. “—how could any of ‘em say different?”

As Blake winced Evans coughed into his fist—he couldn’t tell if she was doing that deliberately to get a rise out of him, or just that oblivious to female modesty. Certainly she didn’t hesitate or have so much as a hint of a blush. “Um, yes, I like how you think. So why don’t you make a list of all the places in Japan you’ve been to that you can remember—nobody’s going to be able to check anywhere you might have gone in China, I have _no_ idea how Genma managed to pull that off what with how angry China’s been with us since the Hong Kong Exodus—which ones will play along and which won’t, which ones you’ll need to speak to personally to get their cooperation and which we can contact instead—”

Toshiko broke in. “I’ll need ta talk ta all’a them, but there’s a problem. Genma knows about ‘em too, and Shwei has people watchin’ ‘em. When I went to Nakadan-sensei for help when it started gettin’ cold his men showed up, and we ended up trashin’ his home when I escaped.”

“Did they?” Evans asked, eyebrow rising. “How do you know they worked for this Shwei?”

Toshiko shrugged. “Who else is there?”

_Definitely not spook material_. “Anyone wanting to grab a valuable asset when someone else will take the blame.”

It took a moment for her to get it; Evans couldn’t decide whether that was because of low self-esteem (temporary or long-running) or that she was just so accustomed to what she could do and hyper-focused on her Art that she couldn’t see the larger ramifications. Her husband had understood immediately, however, and the obvious corollary. “And what about you people? I don’t mean that you had anything to do with the attempts to kidnap her,” he hastily added, waving a hand as if to brush away the thought, “it’s obvious you didn’t know who Toshiko was, much less where or how to find her, but what exactly do _you_ want? There’s no way you whipped up this cover story in a few hours, and covers this perfect have to be few and far between—you’re burning a really valuable asset.”

Evans laughed softly. “Yeah, you’re right, it’s perfect ... _too_ perfect. It’s too good to waste on just any common in-and-out mission, but we just don’t have much real need for a permanent false background. And it has an expiration date, each year we don’t use it makes it less and less plausible. Plus, it isn’t perfect enough, the fact that Ayaka is Japanese complicates things.” He shrugged again. “Use it or lose it, and this is the perfect situation to use it, so why not? Not that we don’t want to at least have you demonstrate what you can do, where the geeks—the science department, that is—can set up their instruments and try to figure out how you do it.”

“That’d be great!” Toshiko enthused, her face lighting up. “It’s been _way_ too long since I could _really_ cut loose when practicin’ my techniques. No way ta do that without letting my hunters know where I am, and I guess ya don’t want me doing that publicly here, too.”

Her husband wasn’t as enthusiastic, Evans could tell. The man was a fighter pilot, after all, he didn’t think like a spook ... or even a sec-op. But he’d get there, and start wondering just how badly the Company wanted Toshiko’s cooperation, and so just who owed whom. Which was all to the good, he’d be more comfortable thinking he and his ‘wife’ were operating from a position of equality.

“So,” Evans said, pulling a copy of the incomplete marriage license and certificate out of the folder he’d brought, “why don’t you get the original and let’s get this filled in so you can have your priest sign it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elk City, Idaho is a real place, with some 2,000 residents, but I pretty much picked the name at random and know nothing of what it’s like or anyone that lives there.
> 
> One note to anyone that might be interested (probably no one, but what the hey) in why I have GURPS Banestorm as one of the fandoms of _The Brothers' War_ and don't have GURPS Black Ops as a fandom for this story, it's because of the people—GURPS Banestorm actually has names and personalities for at least the people of importance inhabiting its various realms (and a few that aren't, like Blind Lars), and GURPS Black Ops doesn't.


	6. Daughters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it's been awhile, but this chapter is **NOT SAFE FOR WORK!!!** Which is why I took so long, because I couldn't _write_ it at work, during my breaks. Not that I haven't been writing, the next chapter of _The Brothers' War_ is also almost done, and should go up in a few days. So anyway, on with the show!

Nabiki was shivering harder than the last time she had been standing by her open window with cell phone in hand, caressed again by the December evening breeze, this time with a rain so light it was practically mist, waiting for the call from her handler. (And there was no point pretending that the man on the other end of the call was anything else—it was always the same voice, even if he had never given his name.) the temperature had plunged over the last few days.

At least the pain in her gut provided something of a distraction—Kasumi had had Akane “practice” again. Though perhaps it really _was_ practice, since she was _only_ suffering from an upset stomach instead of puking her guts out. Her little sister was improving.

Then the clock on her wall reached the appointed time, her cell phone rang, and Nabiki lifted it to her ear. “Nabiki speaking,” she said, as always.

“ _Any word?_ ” The same question as always.

“No, Ranma hasn’t returned or contacted the family.” As always.

“ _It has been months. This is not acceptable. Inform your father and Genma that more is needed on their part to deliver what they promised or a replacement will be required—perhaps your little sister_.”

Nabiki froze. “What?”

“ _Your father and his friend sold us a commodity which they have failed to deliver. We have been more than patient, but will demand compensation if in the end they cannot deliver what they promised. Your sister is well below Ranma’s capabilities but still might well be a valuable asset, as a breeder if nothing else, and more manageable than Genma. So tell them_.”

Nabiki’s self-training in control that had led some of her fellow students at Furinkan to give her the title of Ice Queen came through, and rather than shouting something into the phone that was likely to get her killed she simply replied in a strangled voice, “I will.” Her finger hit the ‘end call’ button and she stared out into the gathering night to tamp down her anger and fear to the point she could hold a conversation, then closed her window and headed for the stairs.

/\

She found the fathers right where she expected, sitting at the low table in the family room, eyes fixed on the shogi board between them. “Father, I just received a call from one of Schwei-san’s men,” she forced out through her tight throat. She thought she heard his neck crack as his he’d whipped around to stare at her. She actually found herself relaxing at his poorly hidden fear, and continued, “He said that if you can’t produce Ranma Schwei-san might have to be satisfied with Akane.” Genma had been taking advantage of his friend’s distraction to shift pieces on the board, but now he whipped around to stare at her; she ignored him as well as the sound of breaking pottery and clanging metal behind her, keeping her gaze fixed on her father. “You might want to resume Akane’s training, in the event Schewei-san is serious. For that matter, you might want to resume your own training, you’ve been lax since Mom died.”

Message delivered she turned to find what she expected—her older sister standing uncaring of the pool of tea about her feet from the dropped platter of tea kettle and cups, eyes wide and face pale. Nodding to Kasumi, she strode past her on the way to her room. She had some planning to do.

/oOo\

Win glanced at the clock again, then at the dark night beyond his reflection in the window, and sighed. Like his wife, he suspected, he’d been putting this off, but with work in the morning he couldn’t wait any longer. “Toshiko, it’s time for bed.”

At that her head shot up from the the Western she’d been reading. She stared at him for a moment, glanced over at the clock, then jerked a nod. “Yeah, we’re past when ya normally turn out the lights, let’s go.” She bookmarked her location and put the book down on the side table beside the couch where she’d been sitting, then rose from her feet and followed him toward the bedroom.

 _This is going to be weird_. Win hadn’t shared a bed since Mandy had died—even with Toshiko he had slept on the couch while she’d been recovering, then switched at her insistence ... they hadn’t been married until they’d exchanged their vows in front of Father Seward, after all. And now he was going to have that familiar body heat without that familiar _person_.

 _Suck it up, you knew you’d be sharing a bed when you asked her to marry you_. Win quickly stripped out of his shirt and slacks, tossed them in the dirty clothes hamper, turned to grab his new pajamas out of their dresser drawer—he hadn’t bothered with them before, during his marriage—and froze.

Toshiko had undressed as well and more thoroughly, her naked body completely on display. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her naked, of course, he’d had to strip her down when he’d first brought her home to get her out of her cold and wet clothes and his makeshift hot water bottles in place before he bundled her up. But then she’d been dirty, her hair stringy, and she stank. Now she was clean and there was a hint of perfume in the air that he hadn’t really noticed before. She was as pale as she’d been then, though not because of cold, and her hands were twitching from, he suspected, abortive moves to cover herself. And around and just above the vertical line of her cleft she wasn’t covering ...

“You shaved,” he heard himself say in the Japanese that had become the household language when they were alone.

Toshiko somehow managed to blush as red as her hair at the same time the rest of her face remained almost as white as the fresh snow outside. “Stacy suggested it.”

Win chuckled, shaking his head. “Did you blush as much then as you are now?”

“I thought I was gonna pass out.”

Win’s chuckles turned into laughter. “We’ll have to come up with something suitably embarrassing to return the favor.”

Toshiko’s laughter joined his. “I’ll hafta leave that ta you, that was more Nabiki’s thing and you’re the one that knows her.”

After a moment the laughter died down, as her blush faded even as she regained some color, until Win quietly said, “Toshiko, we don’t need to do this, not yet.” _Maybe not ever_.

The just regained color fled, but she shook her head. “No, I’m yer wife, and it’s what wives _do_.”

Win started to respond, only to pause as a thought occurred to him. After a moment of standing there with his mouth open, he sighed. “You’re right, it’s what wives do. Sometimes it’s the difference between an ‘annulment’ and a divorce ... and a big check in our favor if anyone accuses us of marrying under false pretenses.”

“What?” Toshiko asked, eyes widening. “How could they accuse us of marrying under false pretenses? What’s an ‘annulment’?” She stumbled slightly over the English word imbedded in her husband’s Japanese.

“Divorce means your marriage is over, annulment means that, legally speaking, it never happened. And yeah, if a couple was accused of marrying just so that, say, one of the couple could become a U.S. citizen—or so that the couple have a legal relationship—the couple never sharing a bed would go a _long_ way to making the government’s case. I don’t really think ‘the Company’ will turn on us, but if they do we’ll want as strong a defense as possible.”

“Oh, yeah.” Toshiko took a deep breath, obviously steeling herself. “So, we doin’ this?”

“Yes, I guess we are.” Win turn back to the drawers. “I think I have some condoms somewhere here, though they’re a little old. If we wait a few days I can—”

“Ya won’t need ‘em.”

Win froze, then slowly turned around. “Toshiko ... you don’t ... pregnancy—”

“—is what wives do. Wives become mothers. And if the Company _does_ turn on us like ya say, ”

Toshiko wasn’t any more relaxed than Win, but her voice was steady, and he couldn’t find a hint of uncertainty on her face. But it didn’t stop him from asking one more time, “Are you _sure_?”

“I swore an oath, an’ I knew what I was gettin’ into.”

 _Only about one percent of pregnancies are tubal. And this time, I’ll be watching for it_. It was Win’s turn to take a deep breath. “Okay, you win, but let’s do this _right_.”

/\

‘Right’ apparently involved the shower. Toshiko stood trying not to shake from sheer nerves as she undid her braid. Win, now stripped down as naked as she was—and she had to admit she was impressed, for a civilian he was in good shape without an ounce of fat and washboard abs—turned the knob to adjust the temperature as they waited for it to warm up. She asked, “So why the shower?”

“Because you’re way too tense.” Win stepped back. “Right now you not only wouldn’t enjoy it, it’d be painful. So we need to change that.”

“Hey, I can handle pain, I’ve been doin’ it all my life!”

Win glanced at his outraged wife and shook his head, chuckling. “I’m sure you can, and I really hope I get to talk to your father about that sometime ... preferably with Special Forces and an arrest warrant to back me up, or maybe some of the Company’s combatants. But you shouldn’t _have_ to be ‘handling’ pain—not with sex, that’s supposed to be _enjoyable_. Unless you enjoy pain?”

“Ah ... no, not like that.”

From the way her cheeks were heating up she was blushing yet again, but Win just repeated his chuckling and turned back as steam began rising, the foggy wisps brushing against the glass of the shower door partially swung open. A hand under the spray and a quick adjustment and he took a deep breath. “Okay, that should do it. Get in and get soaked all around.” Win stepped out of the way and motioned her in. Toshiko stepped in and turned up her face to the spray before turning in place to get her hair thoroughly soaked. Already she could feel herself beginning to relax under the soothing feeling of the almost burning hot water pouring over her.

And then she tensed up all over again as Win joined her and swung the glass shower door closed.

Her husband didn’t comment on her tension, just reaching around her to hang a washcloth on the shower knob and grab the shampoo bottle from the rack hanging beneath the shower nozzle. It was a bit of a close fit, but there was enough room that they weren’t pressed together—like the apartment, the shower was a bit large for one person, but not two.

Then she felt fingers running through her hair over her scalp, presumably mixing in the shampoo he’d grabbed. After a few moments he reached around her to replace the shampoo bottle in the rack and more fingers joined the first ones massaging her scalp. She found herself calming again, soothed into the pleasantly familiar sensations. During her recovery after the fight with Herb Kasumi had sometimes helped her bathe, even taking over the task entirely occasionally when Ranma had been particularly depressed, and the curse-locked girl had come to associate the touch of water and another’s hands with loving care and softly-sung lullabies. Win’s touch wasn’t as gentle as Kasumi’s had been and she had no idea what his singing voice was like since he wasn’t exercising it, but she relaxed into the happy memories nonetheless.

Then he reached around again and grabbed the bar of soap sharing space on the rack with the shampoo and the washcloth he’d hung on the knob, and after a moment she could feel soap and cloth running over her back. “Turn around,” he ordered, and she obeyed without thinking, only to stiffen as she realized she was facing her. What would he—? But he simply shifted to her side, running his fingers through her hair again. “Tilt your head back.” A few moments of steaming hot water sluicing through her hair and running down her back and breasts, and the spray cut off as Win moved behind her. He wasn’t much taller than Toshiko, perhaps as tall as Ranma’s male form had been, but that was enough that he could see the top of her head, and act as a shield against the stream. A moment later the bar of soap was again running over her sides and stomach. She sighed and leaned back against her husband, determinedly refusing to acknowledge the nature of the length pressing between her butt cheeks and against her lower back.

Then the soap ran along the underside of a breast, and she stiffened in spite of all she could do.

Win sighed and shifted around her, gently turning her in place so that the spray was again pouring over her. “This isn’t working, not fast enough—the hot water will run out before you’re ready.”

“I ... I’m not sure I can _get_ ready,” Toshiko admitted. She hesitated for a moment. _Treat it like just another Art, and he’s yer Sensei_. She forced herself to ask, “How is that supposed ta work, exactly?”

There was a pause, then Win hesitantly asked, “Have you ever masturbated as a girl?”

Toshiko laughter was edged, sharp as one of Konatsu’s blades. “I never masturbated as a _guy_. Between Nabiki’s camera, the fathers removin’ the ‘occupied’ sign fer the furo so Akane would walk in on me, rivals bustin’ in at any time a’ the day or night, all a’ them chasin’ me even on training trips, I couldn’t chance it.”

“Wonderful.” Win sighed again. “Or rather, not ‘wonderful’. Looks like we’ll have to settle for ‘not awful’.” He reached around her to place the soap and washcloth on the rack beside the shampoo. “I have work in the morning, please don’t knock me into the wall.”

She was frowning in confusion at the request when his now empty hands rose to cup her breasts, and she had to restrain herself from driving an elbow into his side. _Right, no attackin’ yer husband fer doin’ what ya told him ta do_. Thanks to the stress, even in her mind her language was deteriorating to how he’d spoken when he’d first shown up at the dojo. If Kasumi could have heard, she would _not_ be happy with her. _A’ course, if Kasumi could hear you, ya wouldn’t be here_.

Even as Toshiko was restraining her instinctual reaction and sinking into nostalgia Win’s hands had been busy, and she found herself distracted from her thoughts by gentle fingers caressing flesh under the constant warm spray, crisscrossing her teats, and she found herself leaning back against her husband as she shivered at the pleasure he was giving her, even if it wasn’t _mindblowing_ like she’d half-expected from porn she’d seen and read online. (Only _half_ -expected because she _had_ ‘experimented’ with her breasts, just a little—she’d just thought that perhaps her husband’s experience would make a difference.) But even if it wasn’t setting off skyrockets it was ... pleasant, enough that she could feel her nipples tightening under his gentle stroking.

Then one hand slid down from a breast, and she jerked as fingers slipped along nether-lips wet with cascading water, then shivered from warm breath against an ear as he whispered, “Spread your legs a little.” She took a deep breath and slid her feet along the tile, the length pressing between her buttocks sliding up along her lower back as she sank a little lower, then moaned as a finger slipped into her folds and found her entrance and his palm brushed across the nub beginning to poke out of its sheath ... and then the finger was slipping inside, then another. She shuddered as it probed, beginning to pant, then jerked with a whine at a particular bolt of pleasure flashing through her.

Win chuckled. “I’ll have to remember that spot. But now ...” His fingers slipped free and his arm circled her waist, pulling her against him as he swung her around to face the wall opposite the glass door before turning her around to face him. “ ... we’re running out of time—or hot water, same thing.”

Toshiko actually giggled. “You and Mandy didn’t waste time?” Win froze for a moment, and she winced. _Stupid, stupid, stupid! Akane would be calling you an idiot right now, if she wasn’t pulling out her hammer and calling you a pervert_.

But then her husband relaxed. “No, Mandy was always ready if not eager.” He slipped his hands between her legs and pulled them apart, lifting her up with her back sliding against the wet tile of the wall. “Guide me in.”

 _What?_ It took a few moments—and the odd sensation of the tip of the rod that had been pressed between her butt cheeks now slipping along the folds of her cleft—to realize what he meant. She grasped him behind his neck with one hand as the other reached down between them to circle the wet, warm, steel-hard length of his cock. She hesitated for just a moment ... _his wife_ ... and guided the tip through her folds to the opening to her sheath. Then gasped as he began to push.

To her surprise it wasn’t just not pleasurable, but actually painful—as her husband forced himself deeper and deeper into her sheath she felt like he was trying to split her in two. But she had felt worse from her ... from Genma in an average day’s spar, so she just bit her lip, pulled herself against Win with the arms around his neck, and endured as his hips soon pressed against her thighs. The pain faded as he began to thrust into her again and again, and she let her lip slip free from between her teeth. This part of her wifely duties wouldn’t be so bad, she decided—she hadn’t even bitten her lip hard enough to draw blood. It would be a chore, perhaps, but not—

Win lifted her slightly, shifted the angle of his thrusts, and she gasped as the steel rod stretching her to the limit pushed against the same spot his fingers had earlier found and a bolt of pleasure flashed through her ... then again ... and again! She found her hips beginning to thrust back, trying to maintain the pressure, found herself again panting, softly moaning with each thrust, and—

The steel sheathed in her cleft actually seemed to swell ... she thought she could feel every vein ... and liquid erupted, splashing into her core again and again, impossibly filling her even more and oozing out to slime the feel of hips against thighs. His seed, she realized, perhaps even their first child. She ... didn’t know how to feel about that.

Win thrust a few more times, then pulled out of her, more of his seed oozing out with his softening rod, and slid his hands along her thighs so her feet could drop to the floor. “If we hurry, we might get out with the last of the hot water.”

They didn’t _quite_ make it, Toshiko was unsteady on her feet and feeling tender. But she was as long used to cold baths as she was to pain, and they were out and her husband toweling her dry soon enough. Though she had to sit to pull on the emerald green ‘teddy’ Stacy had _strongly_ suggested she buy. She hadn’t needed Win’s help rebraiding her hair for bed, but he’d provided it anyway.

Win slipped into bed next to her and turned out the light. Silence fell for a moment as Toshiko tried to get comfortable without touching the man she was sharing the bed with, then Win sighed. “Toshiko ... don’t ever compare yourself to Mandy. You aren’t her, you never will be, and you shouldn’t try to be. Just be yourself, that’s more than enough. I rather like the ‘you’ I’m learning about. So how was it?”

“What?” she asked, a little whiplashed at the sudden change of subject. “Oh. It ... it was ... all right—better at the end, _much_ better. I won’t mind doing that again.” And again, and again ... it was what a wife does. _But what else am I going to do?_ She hesitantly asked, “Win? What now?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I do now? I can’t just stay in this apartment ... at home all day. Yeah, I get that there’s cleaning and cooking, but that isn’t gonna take much. And there’s my Art.”

“I hope this apartment _does_ become your home, eventually. Beyond that ...” Win softly laughed. “We’ll talk later about how we divvy up the chores. But no, you can’t stay here all the time, though you probably should until the General arranges your I.D. ... but that’ll be quick.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Well, now that this ... Company ... has supplied your identity they’re going to want to debrief you. I’ll be there for that, of course. And we’ll need to find a place for you to practice your Art. _That_ will need to be both sturdy and _private_ , from what Davidson said they aren’t going to want you showing what you can do to all and sundry. Perhaps the hold of a ship? Beyond that ...” His soft laughter rumbled out again. “I was thinking High School.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Ranma/Toshiko's views on marriage are a little ... traditional, one more thing to blame on her father. And Kasumi, a bit. Which isn't to say she is _wrong_ , not entirely.... We do need a next generation, after all, kids do best in a family environment, and as Win comments, we speak of "consummating" a wedding for a reason. Still, Toshiko has a lot to learn. Oh, and no fear, this isn't going to turn into a high school drama fic. Well, maybe _just_ a little, but not much. Toshiko, the Company, and those left behind in Nerima have more important things to worry about.
> 
> For the title of this chapter I considered "For My Wedding" by Don Henley, and "Loving Her Was Easier (Than Anything I'll Ever Do Again)" by a number of people but the version I'm familiar with is Waylon Jennings', but I settled on "Daughters" by John Mayer:
> 
> I know a girl  
> She puts the color inside of my world  
> But she's just like a maze  
> Where all of the walls all continually change  
> And I've done all I can  
> To stand on her steps with my heart in my hands  
> Now I'm starting to see  
> Maybe it's got nothing to do with me
> 
> Fathers, be good to your daughters  
> Daughters will love like you do  
> Girls become lovers who turn into mothers  
> So mothers, be good to your daughters too
> 
> Oh, you see that skin?  
> It's the same she's been standing in  
> Since the day she saw him walking away  
> Now she's left  
> Cleaning up the mess he made
> 
> So fathers, be good to your daughters  
> Daughters will love like you do  
> Girls become lovers who turn into mothers  
> So mothers, be good to your daughters too
> 
> Boys, you can break  
> You find out how much they can take  
> Boys will be strong  
> And boys soldier on  
> But boys would be gone without the warmth from  
> A woman's good, good heart
> 
> On behalf of every man  
> Looking out for every girl  
> You are the God and the weight of her world
> 
> So fathers, be good to your daughters  
> Daughters will love like you do  
> Girls become lovers who turn into mothers  
> So mothers, be good to your daughters too


	7. Adult Education

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been more than "a few days" since I updated _The Brothers' War_! Life got _really_ busy, especially with my friend finishing up his own latest book, I proofread the "final" manuscript _three times_ in the last couple weeks - we both ended up rewriting entire scenes in our respective works, something we both rarely do. Anyway, enjoy! The chapter title comes from the hit by Hall & Oates, though the song has only a passing connection to the story.

_Several days later:_

From a few steps below the wide glass doors, Toshiko stared up at the entrance to the school. She _really_ didn’t want to be here. _Suck it up, girl, Win explained it, and his explanation actually made sense—ya really_ should _have at least yer high school certificate, and it’ll give ya something to do during the day. Ya can’t practice the Art until they find that empty ship’s hold anyway, not really_.

Not that she was buying the _other_ reason her husband had offered, she really didn’t see the point in mixing with other teenagers her age ... it wasn’t like she’d have much in common with them, not even a mother tongue however good her English was (and getting better). And the teenagers at her _last_ school didn’t exactly impress her. _A’ course, they aren’t likely ta have anything like Kuno and the Hentai Horde here—they’re sane. At least, I_ hope _they’re sane. There can’t be_ two _schools like Furinkan!_ Still, it would be a relief to be out of the apartment for at least a while, now that she had the I.D. to go with her new identity and relationship—things there had been ... not tense, but _awkward_ since their ... shared shower, like neither was quite sure how to deal with the other one, now.

And other than bumping against each other in bed, Win hadn’t touched her.

 _Think about that later, one problem at a time_. Taking a deep breath, she strode up the last few steps and through the front doors. Just inside, a tall, pretty, freckled brunette leaning against the wall looked over the top of the _massive_ book she was reading. (Toshiko whimsically thought that holding up _that_ book, and all its siblings, all day would be a great constant upper body exercise.) Seeing Toshiko, she closed the book with a thump, and said in passable if heavily accented Japanese, “Hi, you must be Tatsuno Toshiko. I’m Baker Mercedes, Patterson-san asked me to meet you and show you around when you showed up.”

“Oh, uh ... yeah, I’m Toshiko. I thought I was gonna hafta take some tests, see where I stand?”

“Yeah, but Pope-san, the secretary, had a family emergency and is going to be late. Patterson-san thought I could keep you occupied until she gets here. Better than having you just sit in an empty room until then.”

“But don’t you have class?”

Mercedes waved off her concern. “It’s history, I could teach it. Come on, this won’t take very long. We’re not exactly big, after all, just the kids from the base—more like a small-town school, Patterson-san says.” And she was off, keeping up a running commentary as they went past classrooms and offices and the cafeteria and lockers and a baseball and football (though Mercedes called it soccer) field, talking about events and personalities until Toshiko’s head swam.

/oOo\

Ukyo looked up at the sound of her restaurant’s door chime, a little surprised—the lunch rush was done, and the handful that would trickle in after school let out up to the dinner rush hadn’t started yet. “Welcome to ... oh, it’s you. I thought I told you to never set foot in my place again.”

The middle Tendo didn’t so much as twitch at Ukyo’s growl. After the _very_ public brawl that had marked Ranma’s attempt to return to Nerima, Ukyo had made her opinion of how Nabiki and the fathers had treated Ranma known to them, loudly and publicly—but unfortunately, Ukyo was sure that Nabiki, at least, had to have a good enough read on her to know she wouldn’t attack someone that wasn’t an immediate threat. Which Furinkan’s Ice Queen wasn’t—a threat any number of _other_ ways, from blackmail to rumormongering, but not physical.

With a shrug, Nabiki said, “I’m not here to buy, just to pass on a warning to you and Konatsu. Last night I found out that the fathers have landed us in a bigger mess than we knew. The people they sold Ranma to are getting impatient, last night they threatened to grab Akane if she she isn’t handed over to them soon. The thought occurred to me that they might not be picky about the substitution and try to grab more than just Akane.”

“Yeah, right, you decided to pass it on out of the goodness of your nonexistent heart,” Ukyo scoffed. “What do you _really_ want?”

Nabiki just shrugged again. “Would you believe anything I told you? I’ve passed on my warning, do with it what you will.” With that she turned and walked out, leaving behind one of the most dangerous people in Nerima trembling with the effort _not_ to chase her down and chop her into giblets.

“Ukyo-sama, do you think she was telling the truth?”

At the soft-spoken words, Ukyo sighed as she turned to look at her ‘waitress’. Konatsu was an effeminate young man— _very_ effeminate, in his make-up, hairstyling, and sartorial selections he was more beautiful than Ukyo had ever dreamed of being ... even though male clothing had become comfortable second nature for her, the male kunoichi that insisted on working for her occasionally sparked off flashes of jealousy. But not this time, as she considered Nabiki’s words. “We can’t chance it. Fetch my battle harness while I close down the grill, we need to talk to Akane.”

/oOo\

Toshiko was too much the martial artist to actually _stumble_ as she left the room where she’d just finished her last test for the day, but that didn’t stop her from almost walking into the door before stepping one pace to the side and making her escape. She knew she wasn’t stupid, far from it—he’d managed to earn passing grades whenever his father had been forced to send him to school, after all. _At least it’s Friday, no half-Saturdays so no more tests till Monday_.

The hallway was full of teenagers hurrying to their cars or rides home—she’d _just_ managed to finish the last test as the school day was ending—and Toshiko heard someone call her name. Turning, she saw her guide from the morning waving to her from beside a hall locker and walked over to join her.

“So, how did you do on your tests?” Mercedes asked, again in her accented Japanese, as she turned back to the combination lock.

Toshiko shrugged. “I mostly did all right, I think.” She grimaced. “At least except for U.S. history, that was _horrible_. My brain feels as bruised as I ever got from sparring.”

“Well, _of course_ , you didn’t do well on U.S. history, who would expect you to?” Mercedes swung open her locker,  and Toshiko’s eyes widened as the girl began loading enough books into her backpack to do a weightlifter proud. “That does mean we’ll be spending time together, though, I’m the school’s tutor for history. Do you need a ride home?”

Toshiko shook her head as her new maybe-friend crouched to zip closed a backpack now bulging at the seams. “I’m good, thanks ... see ya Monday, I guess?”

“Sure, see you then.” Mercedes hefted her backpack and headed for the exit. Toshiko watched her go, noting how she kept her spine straight and shoulder level in spite of the weight she was carrying. _Not bad, for a civilian, she’s got potential_. It looked like a heavy school workload could be great exercise, for beginners at least, so long as they switched off which shoulder they used to carry the backpack. _Enough daydreaming, ya gotta get home and see if you can cook dinner unsupervised_.

And she had to get back into the habit of speaking—or thinking—proper Japanese again, or Kasumi would be _so_ disappointed in her the next time they met.

/oOo\

Yasuhiro sat back on his haunches and wiped at the sweat beading his forehead with the back of the hand not holding his wrench. “Finally!”

“Yeah, I think that’s got it,” his co-worker agreed, gazing with satisfaction at the new pipe they’d just installed. He glanced around at the water-stained kitchen walls and ceiling surrounding them. “There’s going to be some remodeling to do.”

Yasuhiro shrugged. “Not our problem, and it wouldn’t be theirs if they had called us in when the pipes started to leak instead of when they burst.”

“True enough.” Seishisai chuckled, then straightened. “You got any plans tonight?”

Yasuhiro straightened as well, and stretched. “No, the wife’s out of town visiting family, it’ll be take-out and a video. You?”

“There’s family visiting, we’ll be hitting a restaurant. In fact—” He glanced at his watch. “We need to get moving.”

“In that case, let me head down and get the water turned on, if it’s good just head out. I’ll take the train home and in to work on Monday.”

“That sounds good, thanks.”

“No problem.” As Seishisai placed the last of the tools in their box, Yasuhiro headed for the door to the apartment building’s public hallway, and the stairs down to the basement and the entrance to the tunnel with the pipe that supplied water for the entire building. He turned on the light on his helmet and put it on as he went.

A few minutes later he was sweeping the helmet’s beam along the walls and ceiling of the tunnel as he walked. They’d found the tunnel floor free of debris when they’d turned off the water, and he was fascinated by how _clean_ everything was—hardly any dirt or grime, no mold, no insects, no spiders or their webs, no rat droppings. For that matter, no rats. It was really quite remarkable, he’d never seen a tunnel so clean, not even brand new ones. Even the inevitable cracks to be found in any tunnel of any real age didn’t have grime or insects.

And there was the valve he needed to open. A quick few spins of the wheel, and he pulled his radio from its holder on his belt. “It’s open.”

“ ... _And the water’s running fine, and ... no leaks, we’re good. See you tomorrow_.”

“Enjoy your night out.” Yasuhiro returned his radio to his belt and turned to leave, only to freeze as the beam from his helmet played across the tunnel floor—it was _covered_  with white worms the length of his forearm, all undulating as they wriggled over and around each other as they flowed toward him. Except _these_ worms had teeth, tiny ridges circling the round openings at their front end that he assumed to be mouths of some sort. And more of them were wriggling out of cracks and dropping to join the mass below them.

He stepped back and felt something squish under his boot, and looked down to find his back foot surrounded by even more of the small monstrosities. Several of them rose like snakes and lunged forward, tiny mouths clamping onto his boot around his ankle, and fell back into the mass a moment later taking chunks of boot leather with them. He turned to run for the exit through the mass of _things_ , only for pain like nothing he’d ever felt to shoot through him from the back of his heel. Convulsing with a high hissing shriek, he stumbled forward then collapsed onto the undulating mass of wrigglers and more pain filled his world as teeth bit through work pants and shirt into legs and abdomen as other wrigglers pushed into his open mouth and bit into tongue and cheeks. His last sight was several of the _things_ striking for his eyes.


	8. Cutting Loose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone in the US had a Happy (and safe) Thanksgiving! It's been awhile, I know, and another chapter for this story rather than _The Brother's War_. Part of it is the usual Real Life, but part is that when I was mostly finished with the next chapter for _The Brother's War_ I realized that not only had I written it out of sequence, but that I'd accidentally left out an important plot element. I'm going to have to do something I almost never do, go back and add to already written chapters. That shouldn't be all that extensive, though, so it shouldn't add _too_ much time to finish the next chapter. I hope.

_A week later:_

In spite of _finally_ finishing yet another school day, Toshiko could _not_ keep a face-splitting grin off her face as she loaded up her backpack with books for the afternoon’s homework. (She was careful to make sure that no one saw her slip _The Joy of Sex_ in along with the rest of her books—she had been reading Stacy’s late wedding present at home while her husband was out and hiding it in her underwear drawer the rest of the time. But she had lost track of time yesterday and hurriedly stuck it in with her school books when he got home, and had forgotten about it until she opened her backpack at school.)

“You’re in a really good mood for someone that blew off our tutoring session tonight,” Mercedes said in Japanese as she loaded up her own backpack from the locker beside Toshiko. “Is it really that bad?”

“No, no!” Toshiko hastened to assure her. “Really, it’s great! A lot better that the class, really, all the stuff ya—you—toss in about people makes it fun even if it won’t be on any test. They just finally got me a place where I can _really_ cut loose with my martial arts trainin’—training!—and they aren’t sure how long they’ll have it.”

Mercedes giggled. “Relax, I’m just teasing. So that’s what that phone call was about? I was surprised Nichols-san didn’t make more of a stink about it.”

“I doubt he gets many students that get calls during class from their _husband_. He seemed kinda shocked when I told him who it was. You’d think everyone in the school would know by now.”

“Some people just don’t bother to plug into the grapevine,” Mercedes replied with a shrug as she closed her locker and hefted her backpack. “Anyway, tomorrow I’ll know when we can—”

The shoulder of the boy walking past smacked into her shoulder, knocking her against the lockers.

Toshiko caught her new friend’s backpack before it could land on her foot, and glared at the boy walking on without a word. “Hey—!”

“Leave it,” Mercedes pushed away from the lockers. “He’s an asshole.” She took her backpack from Toshiko. “So, see you Monday.”

“Yeah, see ya ... see you Monday.” Toshiko watched her walk away, frowning at the absence of the spring in her step that had been there before, then shrugged as her earlier grin spread across her face. She’d find out what was going on later, right now she had a ship to get to! Too bad she couldn’t roof-hop to get there faster.

/oOo\

Ryoga looked around and sighed. “Where am I now? This doesn’t look much like Tokyo.” Which was too bad, since that meant he was nowhere hear Nerima. He _really_ wanted to get back to Nerima, and not just to court Akane now that Ranma wasn’t an obstacle—or rather, not to court Akane right now, _because_ Ranma was no longer an obstacle. Since Ranma had his curse locked and then ran away (not that Ryoga blamed her ... much), Akane’s mood had been ... chancy, any mention of Ranma likely to threaten tears or another rant, anything hinting at romance (when recognized as such) threatening the same and even the Hammer. But if even he could see that courting Akane was out of the question for now, she still needed her friends.

_So, if I’m not in Tokyo, how close am I?_ Following some advice Kasumi had given him that he try to pay more attention to what _kind_ of place he was in as at least a hint of _where_ he was, he winced—the blocky layout of the buildings surrounding him and rifle-armed guards standing by a number of entrances were features he’d come to associate with military bases, and the flags on a number of those buildings said _US_ military base ... which meant he could be anywhere in the world, the world’s current sole superpower had bases all over the world, he could be _anywhere_.

_No, not anywhere. It’s cold enough to keep real snow on the ground, this time of year that means higher northern latitudes._ Which meant _most_ everywhere since most of the US’s bases were north of the equator, stretching from northern Japan all the way around the world across the US and Europe and back to its newest base on Russia’s Pacific coast. So, time to wander on till he was somewhere both friendlier and closer to home.

Then a familiar redhead ran around a corner, backpack over one shoulder bouncing against her back, and Ryoga grinned. Maybe it wasn’t _quite_ time to wander off. “Ranma Saotome, prepare to die!”

The redhead froze at the familiar shout from behind her, then whirled around, a grin like he hadn’t seen since before she was locked stretching from ear to ear. “Ryoga!” Then her eyes widened and she tossed her school backpack to one side and charged toward her friend. He didn’t have time to shuck off his own much more massive backpack, but he yanked his umbrella out of the loose straps that held it across the top of the pack and swung it down to cross his body—he’d long since given up on trying to actually hit her with it, she would just flow around thrust or swing and pummel his sides, but it did give him more options for blocking her.

Only she didn’t try to strike or kick, instead springing into a spinning leap toward him. He raised the umbrella to block any downward strike, and her hands grasped it and pushed off into another spinning arc to land behind him. He swung around only to find her running away ... toward two guards at a nearby doorway swinging their rifles down from their shoulders. She was yelling, “Don’t shoot, he didn’t mean it!”

The guards slowly lowered their rifles. One asked, “Mrs. Tatsuno, you know this man?”

“Yeah, we used to ... spar all the time, and he’d start off each one yelling the same thing. Of course, he’d shout it in Japanese, not English.” She glanced over her shoulder at Ryoga. “Why’d you use English, anyway?”

“Wherever I end up, I try to use the language of the people living there.”

“You—” Ranma’s eyes widened. “How many languages do you know?”

“I dunno. Four? Five? Six?” Ryoga reached up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous habit he realized he’d picked up from Ranma. “I used to think they were bizarre variations of Japanese.”

“You ... you thought ...” Ranma pressed her lips together but couldn’t keep in the giggles, which quickly grew to ever stronger laughter until she eventually dropped to her knees and fell over onto the street, arms wrapped across her stomach. Ryoga felt his cheeks heating up until it felt like his bangs should spontaneously combust from the heat, but the two guards were relaxing as Ranma’s peals of laughter rang out. Finally fighting herself back under control, she pushed herself to her feet. “Sorry about that,” she managed to get out in a voice tight with the effort to hold back more laughter. “Come on, I was just headed to show off what my martial arts training can do, with you here I can _really_ put on a show.”

“Sure,” Ryoga agreed instantly, “I haven’t had a decent spar since you left Nerima.” He winced at the reminder of that mess, but Ranma just nodded and walked over to pick up her backpack and led him away down the street.

/\

The guards watched the pair walk away. “Do you think that was the Wanderer?” Private Alvarez asked.

Private Sims shrugged. “He fits the descriptions, the surprise is that Mrs. Tatsuno knows him—really well, apparently.”

“Yeah. Well, let’s call it in and pass that along with it, and get back to our post.”

/\

Toshiko’s face was beginning to hurt from the grin spread across it, but just couldn’t help herself—this was the best day ever! Or at least, the best day since her curse had been locked, maybe. Now she was safe, with a home and a future (sort of), even if it was nothing like she’d imagined, even if she was still ... not exactly comfortable with where she was and found some aspects of that future moderately terrifying (like babies, having them and raising them, and kissing, which her husband hadn’t tried to do to her yet). And when she looked back at the months she’d spent on the streets and on the run she wondered why she hadn’t kill herself, her mental state had been that scary. Now ...

Davidson and a Navy officer she didn’t recognize were waiting at the security post at the entrance to the docks, and both sets of eyes widened at the sight of her—no, not her, Ryoga. The guards were just as startled. That was odd, what would they know about him? She waved at Ryoga. “Hey, everyone, on my way here I met a friend. With him here I can _really_ show off what I can do!”

“You know the Wanderer?”

The _who_?” Toshiko stared at the naval officer. “Who’re you?”

“Sorry, I’m Captain Goodwin.” The officer offered his hand for Toshiko and then Ryoga to shake, then nodded to Ryoga. “When you started popping up on secure military bases years ago, and no one could figure out how you were doing it, you caused quite a bit of consternation. But eventually word came down that you weren’t a spy and that trying to apprehend you was pointless and would cause more damage than just letting you wander, you would be gone quickly enough. And that it’s pointless to try to determine just _how_ you manage to make your way into a number of the most secure locations on Earth—some of them underground—and cross continents in a matter of hours if not minutes.” He grinned. “Care to share?”

Toshiko found herself having to fight back giggles as Ryoga started blushing again, rubbing the back of his neck. _I wonder how many of the Nerima Wrecking Crew picked up that tick?_ The Lost Boy mumbled something about family and curses, and Toshiko lost control of her giggles for a moment before forcing herself back under control. “I can tell you about it later. For now, we got a sparring match to get to! Actually, where’s Win—Lieutenant Blake? He’s supposed to be here.”

The two officers exchanged glances, Davidson and the captain exchanged glances, then Captain Goodwin shrugged. “We haven’t received any notifications. Do you want to wait?”

Toshiko hesitated. She really wasn’t supposed to be doing anything with Davidson’s Company without her husband present, but ... “No, I’m just showing off what I can do—what _we_ can do with P- ... with Ryoga here, I don’t want to lose any time on that. You’re recording everything, right?” Davidson nodded. “So just make sure we get a copy for Win to watch before we do anything else, we should be good. So let’s do this!”

/\

Davidson’s eyebrows were trying to crawl into his hairline as he watched one of the multiple screens being fed video of the pair of teenagers bouncing around the cruiser’s hold ... well, _one_ of them was bouncing around, the Wanderer—Ryoga—seemed more inclined to let Toshiko come to him and use his longer reach (umbrella included, of all things) to try to nail her on the transitions. Davidson couldn’t really disagree with the strategy. Yes, it allowed Toshiko to set the pace of the fight, but Ryoga had shrugged off every hit she’d landed so far ... including the kick to the back of the head when she’d _leaped over_ him! Over the years since joining the Company Davidson had been around some of the most lethal people in the world, but he had never seen anything like Toshiko’s style even in professional gymnastics competitions. They were just lucky that they’d set set up the cameras for recording Toshiko’s exhibition and had been able to set up the monitors for remote viewing in the captain’s quarters, even if it was a tight fit, because she had flatly refused to spar with Ryoga with any ‘civilians’ (as she put it), in the hold with them.

Ryoga suddenly cupped his hands by his side and a sickly green glowing ball of light formed in them before he thrust those hands forward and the glowing ball shot toward Toshiko. She easily leaped over the attack with a similarly glowing ball, blue this time, forming in her own hands ... and the view in one of the monitors Davidson wasn’t paying attention to shook as green light washed out its image of the dueling pair before the screen went dark.

Davidson’s jaw dropped. “What ... ?”

“Whatever Ryoga threw at Mrs. Tatsuno hit the bulkhead near the camera and detonated,” Captain Goodwin replied. He glanced over at Davidson and smiled tightly. “Good thing she insisted we observe remotely, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yes. Yes, it is.” Davidson stared at the blank screen for a moment, before switching his attention back to the other screens just in time to see blue and green collide with each other and the hold light up with an explosion that overloaded the screens’ built-in speakers. “I can see why that order to leave the Wanderer alone was a good idea.”

“An _excellent_ idea,” Captain Goodwin agreed, wincing as Toshiko dodged another green ball of light flashing by her and raced to close the distance with Ryoga again even as another monitor went dark. “How are we going to explain the scorch marks all over the hold?”

“I have no idea.”

/\

“That was _wonderful!_ ” Toshiko enthused as she walked down the gangway to the pier. She had to force herself not to hobble from the pain of a deep bruise on one hip, she suspected she had some cracked ribs, her forearms ached from more bruises thanks to one time she’d had to block Ryoga’s umbrella instead of flowing around it, and one eye was swelling shut, her clothes were singed where they weren’t burned away, and she was covered with scrapes and scratches, and she felt _great!_

“Toshiko! What happened to _you!?_ ” Lieutenant Vernon all but shouted where she stood on the pier beside the guards at the foot of the gangway.

Toshiko waved at her husband’s friend. “Hey, Stacy, good to see to see you, I just had the first decent spar in a year!”

Ryoga snorted. “That would explain why you took such a beating. You’re out of shape, Ranma.”

“Hey, I gave as good as I got,” Toshiko protested, and made sure not to flinch when Ryoga ran his gaze over her injuries and battered clothing, and then at the few rents in his own clothes. “Anyway,” she continued, “It told you, my name’s Toshiko now. Genma can keep ‘Ranma’ if he doesn’t want me.”

Ryoga grinned widely enough to bared his almost-fangs. “I’ll tell him when I see him, maybe he’ll say something stupid and give me an excuse for a beat down.”

“Like you need a new reason,” Toshiko replied, waving a hand dismissively.

“Toshiko, I think I’d better—” Stacy started to say, then stiffened and saluted on noticing the two men behind the two martial artists ... especially the captain. “Sir!”

Captain Goodwin returned the salute. “Lieutenant Vernon, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you have a vehicle, Lieutenant? If so, I suggest you drive Mrs. Tatsuno home. Otherwise she’s going to have every guard she passes stopping her to ask what happened.”

“Yes, sir, just what I was going to suggest.”

“I’ll be on my way,” Ryoga said, shrugging his shoulders to shift the straps of his massive pack into more comfortable positions. “That was fun, but I’m hoping to find Nerima tonight.”

“Hey, say hi to Akane and Kasumi for me, just forget you ever heard of ‘Tatsuno Toshiko’, no point in giving those bastards a name to hunt. In fact, for anyone else forget you ever saw me at all.”

“Sure ... Ranma. See you around, hopefully a little sooner than this time. You’re the only one that gives me a decent challenge.” He waved and wandered off down the pier to the shore, quickly vanishing from sight around the corner of one of the warehouses.

Toshiko watched him go, then turned to follow Stacy to her car. As they drove through the base, she frowned as the scenery passed. “Stacy, what’s up with all the guards the last few days? That’s not normal, is it? And do you know what’s up with Win? He was supposed to be here.”

Stacy’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “More guards get posted whenever things with China get tense. And for Win, during his patrol there was ... an incident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, the military, at least, knows all about Ryoga. Kinda hard to see how they wouldn't—have him wander into a few _very_ high security areas and red flags are going to be going up _all over_ the place. And he's going to be utterly confusing: an unauthorized stranger in high security areas that's as confused about where he is as they are about how he got there, no stealth, no attempt to steal or destroy, no threat to anyone unless he's attacked, and then he's gone again who knows where or how. You bet some form of quiet instructions are going to go out, if only in response to the inevitable rumors and to cut down on property damage. And they are going to be going _insane_ with curiosity.


	9. Doing the Job

By now, Win found the roar of his fighter jet’s engines almost comforting, white noise to ease his mind into a timeless state, thinking about everything and focusing on nothing, while he stayed generally alert to his instruments and surroundings (often, as today, including Chinese fighters mirroring his flight). It was a handy state for long patrols; it certainly made patrols a lot faster—David had instantly labeled the Zen of Fighter Patrolling when he’d described it to him and Stacy.

But now he was finding it hard to fall into that Zen state, and as a result this patrol was taking _forever_. And it wasn’t the touchy political climate that was distracting him, or the two Chinese Su-27s from that country’s only aircraft carrier that were mirroring them.

He simply couldn’t stop thinking about his wife. Things were getting better at home, Toshiko relaxing, becoming more natural when sharing a room with him. It helped that neither asked about off-limit areas of the other’s past, Toshiko about his dead wife and he about her time in Nerima or on the run. (Oddly, she had no problem talking about _before_ Nerima, delighted in it even—nothing seemed to make her happier than pouring scorn on her waste of space of a father ... the word _baka_ came up a _lot_.)

But that same relaxation didn’t carry over to sharing a _bed_. Every night when Win would slip under the covers his wife would be stiff as a board, even though he was careful not to touch her. And he was sure she never fell asleep before he did.

And then two more Chinese aircraft—huge turboprop bombers—from the direction of the mainland soared in to join those already there and frustrated boredom was no longer an issue as the Chinese fighters turned to join the newcomers.

The American fighters banked on an intercept heading, as their pilots pulled back to minimum afterburner, to close quickly, but still conserve fuel. “ _Tally-ho!_ ” David called over the radio. “ _I have a tally on the bandits. Look like two Sierra Uniform Two Sevens and two Tango Uniform Niner Fives. Looks like they’re on a heading for Misawa._ ”

As they neared the Chinese formation, the American fighters matched speeds and joined the formation. “Dave, monitor button 4,” Win said over the radio. “I’ll try to contact them.” He switched his secondary radio over to the international distress frequency—121.5—and keyed his mike. “Chinese aircraft, Chinese aircraft. This is Air Force Alfa 31. You are approaching restricted airspace. I say again, you are approaching restricted airspace and will need to divert.”

Win heard the controllers on the AWACS passing information back and forth. He switched his radio back. “Dave, start falling back. Standby to go to weapons arm. Do not, I say again, do not lock your weapons on the targets.”

“ _Roger, Win._ ” The pair of F-22s fell back with one notch of speed brakes and flaps to slow them down. The two Su-27s broke off their escort of the two huge turboprop bombers and moved to blocking positions.

“Skywatch, Alfa. Requesting weapons hot, negative reply from Chinese aircraft. Is Bravo airborne yet?”

“ _Alfa, Skywatch. I copy negative reply from Chinese aircraft. Negative weapons hot at this time. I say again, negative weapons hot. Bravo is airborne and enroute to your position._ ”

“Roger Skywatch. Dave, try contacting the Chinese. It’s possible my alternate radio isn’t working.”

“ _Roger, Win._ ” ... “ _Negative reply, Win._ ”

“Understood.”

The skies over the northern Sea of Japan were starting to get crowded. Two Tu-95 “Bear” turboprop bombers, a pair of Su-27 fighters and four American F-22 fighters, three miles behind and flying in a rough trail formation, all on a heading towards Japan. There had been no contact as yet from any of the Chinese planes, and Win was starting to get antsy. Every second, the formation got closer towards Japan. “Skywatch, Alfa. What’s going on?”

“ _We’re trying to contact State and DOD now. We have no notice of any Chinese exercises._ ”

“Understood, Skywatch.” Win squinted through the windscreen for the formation. Even though the fighters had a video camera mounted in an aerodynamic fairing, he preferred to use the old fashioned Mark 1 eyeball to find his targets, and the helmet mounted sights did make it easier. _Ah, got them at 11 o’clock._ “Skywatch, Alfa.”

“ _Alfa, go_.”

“Skywatch, the Bears are banking away.” Win scanned over at the Su-27s. “Su-27’s are staying behind though.”

“ _Confirmed, Alfa. I show the Bears turning on a vector for Yanji._ ” Just northwest of the Chinese-North Korea border, west of the Russian border. There wasn’t an airbase there but the base at Mudanjiang was directly north, it was the tightest flight path that didn’t cross into Russian air space ... or the planes might cut the corner across Russian air space and dare them to do their worst, more saber-rattling. The Chinese had _not_ been happy when its attempt to pull Mongolia into its orbit during the collapse of the USSR was shut down by the United States and the Russian government that had risen from the ashes, and the recent announcement of a joint US/Russian military base and school for Mongolian officers in Ulaanbaatar was why he’d and Dave had been flying patrol instead of sitting in the alert billets with Bravo playing poker and waiting for possible alerts.

Win’s auxiliary radio suddenly crackled to life. “ _American flight leader, this is Jillin 1. Perhaps we can play a game. Would you care to play a game of tag?_ ”

He flipped his radio over. “Perhaps. What are the rules?” He quickly switched back. “Skywatch, Alfa. Looks like we’re going to be playing tag with the Chinese. Keep an eye on them. And have Bravo come over to GUARD.”

“ _Roger, Alfa._ ”

“ _The rules are simple, comrade. Two on one; your two fighters versus each of our fighters._ ”

Win thought quickly—impromptu mock dogfights between Chinese and American fighters weren’t common but they weren’t unknown, and no one believed that that _Chinese_ pilots engaged in them without direct orders from their superiors. Perhaps this was supposed to be a subtle signal of lessening tensions? “Alright then, bring it on,” Win said. Ahead of the American formation, the two Su-27’s split away from each other, the leader lighting the afterburners. “Dave, we’re going left. Barney, you’re going right. On my mark, split ... Mark.” The four F-22’s split formation, each section following one of the Su-27’s. The six jets danced in the generations-old game, until—

“ _Missile! Missile!_ _Bravo 43, evade! Evade! Eject! Eject! Eject!_ ”

“Jesus Christ!” Win called, back on the command frequency. “Skywatch, Bravo 43 is down. I say again, Bravo 43 is down! Contact Search and Rescue; get somebody out here, two zero miles east of Reference Point Charlie. “Skywatch, request permission to go weapons hot. Those damned Chinese just flipped a missile.”

“ _Stand by, Alfa. We’re on the horn with PACAF now._ ”

“ ‘Stand by’ my ass,” Win growled into his oxygen mask. He watched the two Chinese fighters form back up and accelerate west—towards the China, and safety for them. “Dave, form up on me. Hap, head down to the deck, see if you can spot Barney in the water ... or anything.” Two sets of clicks were the reply as the first pair of alert jets streaked after the Chinese.

“ _Alfa, Skywatch. PACAF Operations has given you a very reluctant weapons hot. As on scene commander, you have discretionary authority, but PACAF would like you to try to force the Chinese to turn around and land at Misawa. PACAF’ll relay the situation to the State Department and let them handle any repercussions. Hopefully the Chinese’ll be happy with just a one for one exchange. JASDF SAR is launching, and will be enroute._ ”

“I’m sure they would, Skywatch. But I doubt the Chinese would be so cooperative. We’re also going to need tanker support for the return trip home. I copy JASDF SAR enroute.”

“ _Roger that. We’ll get a tanker airborne._ ”

The two fighters streaked after the fleeing Su-27s on tails of fire. A pair of sonic booms later indicated that the interceptors had passed through Mach 1, and the mach meter was steadily climbing higher. “ _Alfa, Skywatch. Bandits at your twelve o’clock; speed 1300, range 100, at your flight level and closing. Tanker launching from Chitose Airbase at this time. They’ll rendezvous with you at reference point Charlie._ ”

“Roger,” Win replied. He was keeping all his replies short and to the point. His concentration was focused on keeping after those two Su-27s, and accidental shift in the controls at speeds approaching 2000 miles an hour would throw the fighters off course. _We’ve got a speed advantage over the Su-27’s. Shouldn’t be too difficult to catch up to them. And if Murphy doesn’t kick us in the ass, we’ll get them to turn back._

Flipping his radio back to the aux transmitter, he started calling the Su-27s again on GUARD. “Jillin 1, this is Alfa 31. Slow to 200 knots, deploy landing gear, and turn to heading 090. Jillin 1, this is Alfa 31. Slow to 200, turn to heading 090, and deploy landing gear. If you do not comply with our orders, we will be forced to fire on you.”

“ _Alfa, Skywatch. Contact Blue Sky on button 5._ ”

“Roger.” Win switched his main radio over to the new encrypted channel. “Blue Sky, this is Alfa 31, flight of two F-22 interceptors, with you on button 5.”

“ _Alfa 31, Blue Sky,_ ” a JASDF controller replied, “ _radar contact. Bandits are still at your 12 o’clock, range five zero miles, speed four five zero._ ”

“Roger. Blue Sky, did Skywatch advise you of our status?”

“ _Affirmative, Alfa. You are still authorized weapons hot._ ”

“Roger, out.” Win looked at the range meter on his heads up display. “Dave, we’re coming up on long AMRAAM range. Arm one missile.” Win flipped the master arm on, and selected his radar guided missiles. Win chopped the throttle and popped the speed brakes, rapidly slowing the fighter down, David following his wing leader. At five hundred indicated, both pilots pulled the speed brakes back in, and continued to chase the Chinese fighters.

“ _Missile armed Win._ ”

“Roger. You take right, I’ll take left.” Win keyed the aux radio again. “Jillin 1, this is Alfa 31. This is your last chance. Slow to 200, turn to heading 090, and deploy landing gear. I say again, slow to 200 knots, turn to heading 090, and deploy landing gear.” When the Chinese didn’t reply, he called over to his wingman. “Dave, on my mark, commence fire. 3…2…”

“ _Alfa, Blue Sky. New contacts at your 11 o’clock, altitude one zero thousand and climbing, speed five hundred and increasing._ ”

“Crap. Dave, mark. Blue Sky, Alfa. Fox 1! Swing it back around to Misawa, Dave. Let’s get the hell out of here.” In the 90 degree bank they were in, turning around to get away from the incoming Chinese interceptors, neither pilot saw the fireball in the distance.

“ _Alfa, Blue Sky. Splash one! I say again, Splash one Chinese aircraft. Bogies are now at your six o’clock, your flight level, speed Mach 2 and increasing. Range one five zero and closing._ ”

“Roger, Blue Sky. Dave, what’s your fuel status?”

“ _Win, bingo fuel. I hope that tanker’s close by._ ”

“And I hope we get some cover. Those Chinese are going to be pissed. Even though they started this whole fiasco. I’ve got Betty bitching at me also.”

“ _Alfa, Blue Sky. Shamu at flight level 350, range two hundred, your twelve o’clock. Contact on Button 7. Also be advised, Charlie 56 is airborne and enroute._ ”

“Roger, Blue Sky. Dave, let’s go ahead, drop down, and match Shamu’s speed and altitude.” David’s replied with two clicks, as the fighters dropped altitude and airspeed.

Win and his wingman had just finished refueling when a thick Chinese accent came over GUARD with the weirdest sense of deja vu. “ _American aircraft, this is Jillin 3. Slow to 370 kilometers per hour, turn to heading 330, and deploy landing gear. American aircraft, this is Jillin 3. Slow to 370 kilometers per hour, turn to heading 330, and deploy landing gear._ ”

“Dave, continue on heading 080. Blue Sky, ETA of Charlie 56?” The KC-767 was already hightailing it out of RP Charlie.

“ _Alfa, Blue Sky. Stand by._ ” Win was starting to get edgy. The Su-27’s that were approaching were coming like bats out of hell, and they were getting very close. And, there was another reason—their air-to-air missiles had a 75 mile range and burned through the air at high Mach numbers. At the most, Win and David would have seconds to try to do something after getting a “Missile Launch” warning, and it would most likely be their last. “ _Alfa, Blue Sky. Charlie 56 ETA five mike. Chinese are ten minutes out, raid count zero four._ ”

“I copy five mike for Charlie, ten mike for zero four Chinese. Dave, take spacing, and be careful.”

“ _FLASH! FLASH! FLASH! The following message has FLASH priority. Alfa 31, Charlie 56: Stand down. I say again, stand down. This is Blue Sky. Orders come from JCS and Foggy Bottom. Be advised, Chinese interceptors are turning around. Continue on heading 080 for Misawa Airbase. Contact Skywatch on button 4._ ”

Win was suspicious. The sudden arrival of this message could be a spoof by the Chinese. Even though Charlie 56 had reported they were turning around, and they were on a supposedly encrypted. But with the number of leaks in Washington, anything was possible. He pulled up his authentication table “Blue Sky, Alfa. Authenticate ‘Bravo Sierra’.”

“ _Alfa, Blue Sky. I authenticate ‘Alfa’._ ”

“Blue Sky, Alfa. Wilco with Flash traffic. Returning to base. Dave, let’s really head home.”

/\

Hours later, the medic’s okay given, the dogfight’s actions reviewed (he was surprised to learn that Dave’s missile had found a target), and his report written up, an aching Win walked heavily through his apartment’s front door, then turned to close and lock it behind him. “I’m home!”

“Finally! Stacy said you’d be delayed, but not _this_ long. I’ll get your dinner in the microwave.”

He followed the sound of his wife’s voice into the kitchen, and she glanced over at him as she slid a covered plate into the microwave sitting on the counter—and he promptly stumbled, grabbing the back of a chair for balance, at the sight of her black eye ... and the deep scratch along one cheek ... and the singed end of the braid hanging between her breasts. Now that he thought about it, the way she’d moved when she turned had been stiff rather than her usual smooth grace. “What happened to _you!?_ ”

Toshiko grinned, a wide _happy_ grin like he’d never seen.

/oOo\

Jason closed and locked his apartment door, then stepped over to the controls on the wall to let the security system know he was supposed to be there ... then stepped over to another wall and slid aside an (apparently) wood panel to bring the _real_ security system to full activation. (There was no point in leaving the real security system completely on when he was out, he kept everything important—and incriminating—with him and if someone broke in while he was out and found it, it could raise questions. But it would send him an alert if anyone _did_ break in, instead of try to incapacitate them.)

When he got the beep whose tone meant he was alone, he pulled his laptop from its pack, plugged it into the internet landline connection, turned it on, then pulled the flash drive that had all the important stuff on it and plugged it into its socket. A minute and three passwords later (one of which there was no prompt for), everything was up and running and the call sent. And a moment later, the round, blond-framed face of his section chief appeared on a pop-up window. Jason raised an eyebrow. “Mike, that was quick, miss me?”

Mike chuckled. “Just curious about what our potential recruit can do. How did it go?”

Jason leaned back. “Better than I expected, we had an unplanned drop-in join the fun—the Wanderer.”

“What?” Mike exclaimed. “How did that happen?”

“Ryoga—that’s his name—just happened to wander onto the street Toshiko was walking down. Apparently that’s a thing, what was unusual was that he hadn’t encountered her in the past year, perhaps because of how much _she_ was on the move.” He shrugged. “Anyway, they really put on a show, I just sent you the raw footage. You’re going to find it entertaining as well as illuminating, smack-talking is a tradition for that pair. And it seems Toshiko’s a little out of practice, she definitely came off the worst of the two ... and there isn’t going to be much we can do about it, she took some hits that would send any of our grunts to the hospital if not the morgue, and when it was over walked off grinning and gushing about how much fun she’d had.”

“So a tank, then?” Mike asked as he glanced away from the camera, presumably at the just-sent file.

“Armored artillery, they both started throwing around balls of some kind of energy halfway through, Combat’s going to drool at the video,” Jason replied, grinning at the thought of the reaction of the head of the Combat Department. “Destroyed half of the cameras I set up, and—” He broke off at the sound of a knock on the door. “Someone’s here, I’ll call you back.”

Unplugging and pocketing the flash drive, he opened the laptop window for the feed for the camera covering the apartment door. His eyebrows rose at the sight of an elderly Asian man he’d never seen before dressed in a well-pressed but not ostentatious business suit holding a briefcase, waiting patiently on the apartment’s front step. He quickly ran through the other cameras discreetly covering various places perfect for keeping an equally discreet watch on his front door, but no one was lurking about waiting to ambush him or guard his visitor’s back. Whoever the man was, he was alone.

 _Okay_ ...

Jason closed the laptop and rose to open the door. Deciding to stick to English, he bowed shallowly. “Kobanwa. May I help you?”

The elderly gentleman returned the bow and responded in the same language. “Good evening, Mr. Davidson, I am Mr. Otsu. We have a situation we need to discuss.”

His cover name rather than his actual name—not a surprise by itself, but the greeting had lacked any of the code phrases that would indicate the man was associated with the Company. But he had to know _something_ about Jason’s purpose in Japan or he wouldn’t know even his cover identity, and Jason had to stomp on rising excitement as he stepped aside to invite Mr. Otsu into his apartment.

His visitor walked over to the table and laid his briefcase on it, then popped it open (without unlocking it, Jason noted, so whatever it contained wasn’t _too_ sensitive), then pulled out a folder and laid it on the table. “Last Friday, a plumber performing maintenance on an apartment building not far from the base disappeared,” he began without preamble, causing Jason’s eyebrow to rise before he forced it back down—that was unusually blunt for a Japanese. _Of course, Toshiko has no subtlety at all. Don’t assume the stereotypes are universal_.

“Have a seat.” Jason sat down, and put a hand on the folder Mr. Otsu slid across the table to him without looking at it. “So what does a plumber’s disappearance have to do with me?”

“Because he didn’t disappear, he was killed.” Mr. Otsu took the offered seat. “When he didn’t go in to work on Monday and his wife reported him missing it was assumed he was waylaid during his journey home, but several days ago it occurred to one of the investigating detectives that he might not have left the apartment building as his partner had reported. The photographs of the crime scene are in the file.”

Frowning, Jason opened the folder to reveal a small pile of pages with a ziplock bag of photos on top. Unzipping the bag, he pulled out the photos and sorted through them—not a one showed a body. Instead, there were photos of a hand radio, some tools, a cell phone, some other personal items scattered on bare concrete ... and a belt buckle? Dropping the photos, he picked up the pages and quickly sorted through them, to find the reports he’d been afraid were there, then sorted through the photos again to one that had showed the concrete floor with the items removed, replaced by numbered markers, and the circle drawn on it—the _large_ circle. The area that had been covered with blood before being cleaned up.

Sighing, he dropped the photos on top of the stack and looked up. “Have there been fewer homeless people and stray animals around than usual?”

“I do not know. Can I expect there to be?”

“Yes.” Jason leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. “Ice worms. They come out of hibernation when temperatures drop below freezing, and are as omnivorous as it is possible to be. There’s no body because they ate it all, including bones and clothes—right down to the blood pool. Any time you see a tunnel that’s _too_ clean in ice-cold conditions, look out.”

“I see.” Mr. Otsu frowned thoughtfully. “I have not heard of such creatures.”

“I’d be surprised if you had, they’re of extraterrestrial origin, from a single crash site. Between the single origin site and the way they devastate the landscape, making it impossible to hide from anyone that knows what they’re seeing, we’ve been able to quickly jump on any outbreaks—until now. This is the first time I’ve heard of them showing up in a city, _not_ good.”

“No. And that this occurs close to a United States military base will not be a coincidence.”

“Probably, which makes it our mess to clean up.” Jason sighed and planted his elbows on the table as he rubbed his face again. But behind his eyes, his thoughts were racing. “We’ll need some aid getting the local authorities to look the other way, we aren’t set up for effective operations in Japan.”

Finally, the serene non-expression on Mr. Otsu’s face was broken, by a thin smile. “We’d noticed how ... polite ... your intrusion into our country has been.” Pulling a card from a suit pocket, he slid it across the table. “Keep the file, and call us when you’re ready. We’ll clear the way for you.”

“I will.” Jason accepted the card and glanced at it to find it blank except for a phone number, then rose to his feet with his unexpected guest and showed him to the door. As soon as the door was closed and locked, he hastily set up the laptop with the flash drive again again and within a minute Mike was again on the screen. Jason couldn’t stop grinning. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been a _long_ time! The stumbling block was Win's scene. I was planning to use a game I have, "Down In Flames: Locked-On," to come up with an exciting dogfight, but ran into the problem that my "experience" with dogfights basically consists of "Pearl Harbor," "Midway," and the Star Wars movies, and none of them supply the modern US military radio "language" and that lack was kicking my butt. Then it _finally_ occurred to me that Scooter, the writer of the work that inspired this story, _did_. As a result, Win's scene in this chapter is largely taken from Scooter's _Phoenix_ , modified to fit my circumstances. The _next_ dogfight is going to be a _pain_.
> 
> The title is a shout out to one of my favorite series, _Wearing the Cape_ : "When you wear the cape, you do the job."


	10. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, another chapter down. I _really_ hope everyone is at least well, if not necessarily doing well. Now on to the short (I hope) sequel to _The Youxia Bond!_
> 
>  
> 
> **Warning, the last 3/5ths of this chapter is high-citrus content, NSFW!**

Another day of school over, Toshiko was loading up her backpack at her locker again. And as had also been normal over the last few days, she again had to pull her thoughts away from her husband. And it hadn’t gone without notice, either, more than one teacher had called her on her failure to pay attention in class. Only Barnes-san had actually asked why she was so distracted, and had been understanding when after her initial stammered denial she had admitted to thinking about Win and his short dogfight the previous Friday ... but even he had kindly pointed out that such was the nature of the career her husband had chosen, and dogfight or no dogfight, she still had a test tomorrow. And speaking of studying for the test ...

 “Remember, we have to be done by 5:30,” she said to Mercedes at the locker next to her—in English, this time. (After using some phrases she’d picked up from the U.S. Marines she’d trained with during the training trip had landed her in the Principal’s office, Patterson-san had suggested that she stick exclusively to English at school even when talking to those that knew Japanese, to get a proper feel for what conversational English was _really_ like ... at least in ‘polite company’.) “I have to be home in time to cook dinner.”

“You’d better make it 5:00 to leave room for a shower,” a boy nearby said with a sneer, “you’ll need to clean up when you’re done, and a tongue-bath won’t hack it.”

_What?_ Toshiko glared at the boy, the same one that had body-checked Mercedes into her locker the previous Friday. She was tempted to break his nose for him, but ... _Bad Ranma! ... Toshiko! No beating up the civilians, you’ll get Win in trouble_. So instead she contented herself with pulling the wedding ring she kept on a chain around her neck out from under her blouse to show to him. “Since you have been living under a rock for the past few weeks, let me kill your fantasies. I. Am. Married. Asshole. Go away.” She dropped the ring back down into her blouse as she turned back to Mercedes. “Come on, I want to find out what other idiocies you got up to in your civil war.”

As they walked away from their lockers Toshiko talked about some of the idiocies the Japanese had gotten up to during their own Warring States period until they were well away from the school, when she could switch to Japanese with a clear conscience. “So, who is that idiot and what’s _his_ problem.?”

Mercedes snorted. “Joshua—always Joshua, you understand, never Josh—is General Layton’s son.” At Toshiko’s clear lack of recognition, she added, “The base commander.”

“Oh, one of _those_. Yeah, I’ve met them before.” Ranma scowled. “They think ‘cause their dads are big shots they rule the school. Sad thing is, sometimes they’re right. Is he?”

“No,” Mercedes replied, shaking her head. “I’m sure he’d like to think so, but unfortunately he’s not that stupid. But it _does_ mean that he gets cut a little more slack—other students not willing to report him, teachers not being as hard on him as they might—and he knows _exactly_ where the line is.”

“Well, at least that’s better than—” Toshiko broke off, waving off the rest of her comment as irrelevant. “So what’s his problem with you?”

Mercedes shrugged. “He asked—no, he _demanded_ —I go on a date with him and I blew him off. He’s decided that since I don’t date _anybody_ I must be a lesbian and any girl willing to hang out with me must be, too. Or at least that he could use it to harass any girl that might be getting friendly with me whether he believes it or not.”

“Yeah, a real asshole, all right. So are you?” _Oops!_ “Ya don’t hafta answer that,” Toshiko added, waving her hands and falling back into her old cruder speech habits in her haste, “it’s none’a my business.”

“Relax!” Mercedes giggled for a moment. “Yes, I am ... is that a problem?”

“No,” Toshiko reassured her, shaking her head. “Like I told the asshole, I’m married. So ... ya— _you_ —said Sherman did something spectacularly stupid just before the battle of Shiloh?”

Mercedes’ relieved laugh might have had just a _touch_ of hysteria, but Toshiko ignored it as her new friend launched into a story of a military commander that blew off actual reports of enemy troops just beyond his army’s picket line because it didn’t fit his conviction that there weren’t any within twenty miles, and how he spent the next day desperately fighting off the surprise assault that came within a hair’s breadth of destroying his army.

That kept them going until they reached Mercedes’ family’s apartment, and Toshiko looked around, curious about her new friend. Like the Western homes he’d seen in movies before she was locked—like her own new home, for that matter, if with fewer books and more knickknacks on the shelves—it was ... overfull. Stuffed, really, not to the point of having trouble moving around, but she found herself missing the simplicity of the Tendo residence. (At least, the public spaces, Akane’s and Nabiki’s bedroom were pretty full. So were Yuka’s and Sayuri’s, when she had visited with Akane. Maybe it was a teenager thing?)

Then an item caught Toshiko’s attention that _wasn’t_ a knickknack—a dagger, a _real_ one, for all the jewels and fancy carving of guard and pommel the blade looked true and the grip comfortable. She walked over to examine it more closely, and caught Mercedes stiffening out of the corner of her eye. “May I?”

“Sure, go ahead. Just be careful, the blade’s sharp.”

“I’d hope so, anything else’d be a travesty for somethin’ this good.” Toshiko picked it up and smiled. She’d been right, her grip naturally fell into place, as comfortable as any blade she’d held. And the blade—she shaved off some of the fine hairs on her forearm—was as sharp as the day it was forged. For all its finery, this was as beautiful a working blade as she’d ever seen.

And, she suddenly realized, she seemed to be picking up a similar ... vibe? ... as she had most recently from the open water kettle.

She hastily placed the dagger back on its display holder and turned to Mercedes. “Like I said, I gotta be done by 5:30. We’d better get ta studying.”

Mercedes’ gaze sharpened, but she simply nodded acknowledgement. “We’ll use the kitchen table, this way.”

/oOo\

Jason Evans stood in the area for those waiting for new arrivals at Misawa Airport, watching the passengers from the latest flight from the United States streaming out of the baggage claim. So far they had been what you’d expect, mostly business people of both sexes though there were some tourists taking a Christmas holiday vacation, certainly none with the pure _physicality_ of the men he was waiting for. The Company’s Grunts were the best physical specimens the human race had to offer, at the top of their game and with training and experience no military in the world could consistently match—and it made them _very_ difficult to use in any kind of op requiring a light touch, they stood out like Dobermans surrounded by kittens.

Then one of the men he was watching for came out of baggage, another a few seconds later, Tony Hopkins and Jeff Andrews ... and that was it. Jason didn’t like where this was going. He watched as they looked around, saw him, and walked toward him. They were dressed in Standard Tourist like he was, dragging perfectly ordinary wheeled luggage behind them, but people were instinctively shying away from them where Jason would have been just one more gaijin tourist.

As the pair reached him he grinned, holding out a hand to Tony then when he took it pulling him into a one-armed hug. “Brian, Jerry, it’s good to see you! Where’s Mike and Jose?”

Jeff shook his head and grinned, accepting his own shake-and-embrace. “They couldn’t make it, came down with a bug. Let’s grab a bite and we’ll tell you all about it.”

“Sure, come on.” Jason kept his concern off his face as he led them out to the parking and his car, tossing their luggage in the trunk. Only once they were on the road did he ask, “What happened?”

Tony sighed and shifted uncomfortably in the front passenger seat. (Cars in Japan were _not_ made for people his size.) “They really did come down with a bug—the burrowing variety. The docs think they’ll be able to dig them all out before they burrow into anything important, but they can’t do it if Ben and Guile aren’t there.”

“Damn.” Jason hoped the two Grunts would be all right, he’d worked with them before and had liked them. And their absence left him with another problem. “Did they tell you it’s ice worms? We’ll need more than just two of you.” He glanced away from the road for a second to catch Tony’s grimace, and imagined Jeff was doing the same—there were worse threats, but no one like ice worms. “Well, we’ll have a day or two before whoever Security manages to shake loose gets here. Maybe another squad can join us.” He didn’t glance over again but imagined that the other two were grimacing again, none of the Grunts enjoyed having ‘Squealers’ (yes, he knew what the Grunts called secops) along as minders ... even if they should be used to it, seeing how regs called for one on every mission to keep things from getting out of control. _Though if we can’t shake free anyone else, in this case they might not mind having another warm body along, even if he_ is _a Squealer_.

For a moment, memory of a young laughing redhead dodging glowing balls of green as she returned fire with her own shining blue missiles came to mind, but he shook off the thought. _I don’t care how skilled a combatant she is, she’s a civilian. She’s not trained for the field_.

/oOo\

Toshiko stood in front of the full-length mirror on their bathroom door, scrutinizing her naked body. She hated to admit it (to herself, never out loud), but Ryoga had had a point—she wasn’t as in shape as she had been. Sure, the weeks of sleeping warm and eating until she was full had done her a world of good. (Something that had been a source of amazement for her husband, before it had changed to a source of amusement and subtle joshing—the _sheer amount_ she could eat ... once her stomach had again adjusted to having enough, that is).

But those handful of weeks were nowhere near enough to fix what long months of living hard—especially not eating well—had done to her muscle tone. The lack of a place where she had the privacy to _really_ cut loose while training hadn’t helped, though she was looking forward to the weekend when she’d have another chance to use the ship’s hold.

_And you’re deflectin’_. She could hear the old accent that Kasumi had tried to train out of her, that she managed to avoid most of the time now, when she wasn’t stressed or caught by surprise ... and she was definitely stressed. She hadn’t really given much consideration to Win’s career, when she had chosen to make a leap of faith and accept his offer of marriage, but last Friday had been a wake-up call—it could have been _his_ body fished out of the water, her a widow before she’d been two months a wife.

And she would have failed in her duty, to her husband and his line. This wasn’t like her ... his ... engagement with Akane, when they’d had all the time in the world and both been too young to marry, anyway. Her husband’s duty wasn’t _safe_.

Toshiko took a deep breath as she ran her fingers over the soft red fuzz above her cleft, before turning to grab razor and shaving cream. _Dream of Columbus_. At least after the shower on their wedding night she knew she could expect it to be pleasurable if not exactly _comfortable_.

/\

When the sound of the shower cut off Win set the book he’d been reading in bed while waiting for his wife on the bedside table and settled back for another awkward night. He _still_ hadn’t come up with a way to get Toshiko to just _relax_. Surely by now she ought to have figured out that he wouldn’t demand— He glanced over as steam billowed from the just-opened door to the bathroom and his train of thought derailed at the sight of his wife. Or more specifically, the sight of the _nude body_ of his wife as she toweled her hair, something he hadn’t seen since their wedding night. “Toshiko ...”

She just gave him a _look_ that shut him down (not that he had anything coherent to say) and sat down at Mandy’s vanity table and brushed out her hair before braiding it for the night. His eyes were fixed on the mirror, watching as her firm, large (for her size) breasts shifted and bounced with the motion of arms and hands quickly formed the single braid with the speed of long practice. Then their eyes met in the mirror and he blushed and looked away.

Toshiko sighed. “Win, I’m your wife. You’re allowed to look.”

“Toshiko, I ... you ...” He stammered to an incoherent stop, feeling like he was the blushing, uncertain teenager just graduated from High School a decade past.

The braid done, Toshiko rose and faced him, once again putting herself on display. “I _am_ your wife, and tonight I am going to _be_ your wife. Would you have gone this long without sex with Mandy?”

Instantly, Win felt his uncertainty vanish as he found himself back on familiar ground—at least, in his thoughts. And for once, the mention of his dead wife didn’t come with a twinge of pain. “You are not Mandy, do _not_ compare yourself to her. It isn’t fair to you, or to her. You should take all the time you need.”

“I don’t think time is going to make this any better, just ... familiarity. And I _did_ enjoy our shower. I just need to get used to it.”

She stepped toward the bed, and Win felt his cock twitch and grow as his eyes took in the jiggle of her breasts, the way her shaved cleft vanished and reappeared with each step, and he threw back the bed covers as he sat up. “Come here, wife.”

Toshiko couldn’t help but giggle at the growl. In spite of a playful edge she thought she’d heard it had sounded so _forceful_ , and husband or not, the thought of _anyone_ getting ‘forceful’ with her ... but she played along. After all, in spite of all the blushes she’d suffered reading the book Stacy had given her from cover to cover (at some cost to her studies), she didn’t really _know_ how it all fit together—he’d always learned best by doing (even when his teachers had been men other than Genma). So when Win gently pulled her down she sat demurely on the bed beside him.

With her sitting on the bed he moved around behind her, and just like in the shower his hands slipped around to cup firm breasts, fingers brushing across smooth skin and crinkling nipples. Again, she leaned back against him as she shivered at the gentle pleasure, and spread her legs for the next step.

Only this time, the next step didn’t come, just her breath coming faster as fingers began to massage breasts and fingers to tweak and gently tug at pleasure-tightened nipples, until she finally gasped out, “Win?”

Win sighed, making her shiver at the warm breath on neck and ear. “I guess your breasts aren’t as sensitive as I’d hoped.” He stopped and shuffled back on the bed. “Lie down.”

The fact that Toshiko felt vaguely insulted by the comment didn’t keep her from beginning to tense up again, and she forced herself to stay relaxed as she swung her legs up and stretched out on what had become her half of the bed, thoughts of where they could go from here, fueled by Stacy’s gift, running through her head. She’d felt the slickness of her inner thighs as she’d shifted position, and this time the water of the shower had nothing to do with it ... and yes, there was a wet spot where she’d been sitting, she was going to have to wash the sheets and wipe down the liquid-proof mattress cover tomorrow. But she was worried that things could get awkward, she wasn’t sure how good an act she could put on given the circumstances....

But he didn’t try anything like the ‘mood-enhancing’ suggestions of the book, to add a ‘romantic air’ to the ‘encounter’, simply scooting down along the bed toward her feet—

_Oh_.

She was already spreading her legs when he tried to push them apart, sucking in a breath at the first touch of fingers tracing her damp folds, and he chuckled when one finger slid across her clit and her hips bucked.

“Your breasts may not be as sensitive, but _this_ certainly is.” She shivered at the feel of warm breath on those folds, then he blew gently and her hips bucked again as she moaned. His chuckle turned into a sharp laugh, probably at the moan since lying down she couldn’t really see his eyes over her breasts and so he couldn’t see the blush rising in her cheeks.

“N-new,” she gasped out.

“Maybe, we’ll see.” He shifted, slipping his arms under her legs to wrap around her thighs, holding her in place as she watched the blond hair of the top of his head dip out of sight below her breasts. Then his lips touched hers, his tongue darting in, and it was all she could do to bite back a shriek as her hands clutched at the sheet beneath them—the apartments’ soundproofing wasn’t _that_ good, as she’d noticed more than once from sounds coming from the neighbors that had her blushing and turning up the music when she’d realized what she was hearing. “So maybe it wasn’t _just_ that spot I found last time,” he mused, rising up on his elbows and smiling at her before dropping back down, and she was quickly lost in the new sensations washing through her, gasping and moaning with each wave of pleasure rippling from his working lips and tongue sweeping across her folds and clit and dipping into her sheath, pushing her higher and higher until the ripples  turned into a bolt of fire blasting through her, tightening every muscle with a shout that this time she wasn’t able to keep behind her teeth.

She came back to herself, panting and covered in sweat, to her husband’s soft laughter, and looked past the heaving peaks of her mounds to see him braced up on his elbows, his mouth wet with her juices in a broad grin. “Not bad for a first time,” he said before again dropping out of sight, and she felt his arms returning to their hold around her thighs. As she again felt his lips again press against her slick folds, she had a sudden vision of tsunami after tsunami washing over her, powered by lips and tongue and eventually fingers when she was worn out enough that he didn’t need to hold her down, until she was limp as a noodle and unable to do anything but sleep, while he—

“Wait!”

It was more of a gasp than a shout, but it caught his attention and he lifted his head again. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing wrong ... your turn ... get up here ... just let me ... catch breath.”

He hesitated for a long moment, then pushed up from between her thighs and scrambled up the bed to lie down beside her. “As you wish.” His chuckles turned to laughter for a moment when she turned to look at him, confused, but he just said, “Take as long as you need.”

Toshiko nodded and closed her eyes as she worked to bring her breathing under control, twitching as unseen lips captured one of her crinkled-tight nipples. She worked her arm out from underneath him to run her fingers through his hair as her breathing eased ... though that wasn’t helped when his hand found her other breast. Finally, when her breathing started to speed up instead of slow down and she began to squirm under his attentions, she gently pushed him away. “On your back, my turn to do the work.”

“Fair enough.” Win rolled onto his back and put his hands behind his head, his stiffened cock jutting up with a gleam of pre-cum shining at its tip. He grinned up at her as she pushed herself up. “Do your worst.”

Toshiko found herself grinning back. “Not a chance, you get nothing but my best.” _Such as it is_ , she thought, remembering Ranma’s first time on any number of katas before he’d gotten a solid grounding in multiple styles to provide a foundation for any style she could imagine. Though there couldn’t be anything like that kind of variety for her newest ‘style’ ... could there? Stacy’s book made it seem simple enough, but he’d never tried learning a new style from a book.... _So let’s find out_.

She scooted down a bit and swung one leg over Win to kneel straddling his hips as she braced herself on her arms. Reaching down to grasp his cock, she found herself moaning as she rubbed its tip between her nether lips before taking a deep breath and guiding it to the entrance to her sheath. She began to sink slowly, hissing faintly at the sensation of the steel-solid rod spreading wide her sheath’s wet walls as it pushed deeper and deeper until she could feel his pubic hair tickling her clean-shaven pubic mound. This time, though she felt like the intrusion _ought_ to feel like it was trying to split her apart like it did in the shower, _this_ time it didn’t hurt. Stacy’s gift had said it likely wouldn’t, if he wasn’t too big and she was careful, but she hadn’t been sure just what ‘too big’ or ‘careful’ meant.

She sat for a long moment, leaning forward braced on her arms, taking deep breaths, until she thought she was as adjusted to her well-filled sheath as she was going to get. Finally, she pushed herself upright and began to bounce.

At first her rise and fall was tentative, waiting for pain that didn’t come. Instead, she found herself beginning to pant again as fresh pleasure grew with each lift-and-drop—even more than what her husband’s lips and tongue had given her—and she grabbed her oscillating breasts to provide support as her bouncing became more energetic. She found herself beginning to waver as her rising pleasure swamped her senses, only to feel Win’s hands on her hips providing support. Then he began to thrust up in time with her own motions, and her pants turned into moans in sync with the wet slapping of their colliding hips, then tiny shrieks.

Then even her husband’s hands on her hips weren’t enough, and she felt the hands rise up along her back and pull gently forward as he stopped his own thrusting for a moment. “This’ll work better if you lie down, it would _not_ be fun telling the hospital how you got a concussion if you dive head-first off the bed.”

Toshiko felt her blush even through the heat that seemed to fill her sweat-slicked face (and body). “Yeah, ya aren’t wrong,” she managed to gasp out and let herself fall forward, catching herself on her outstretched arms. She shivered at the sensation of her nipples brushing against the hair on his chest as she rested for a few moments, shifted her legs into slightly better positions (shivering again as that also shifted the stiff cock filling her). Finally she resumed her rhythm, again losing herself in the pleasure that seemed to grow with each bounce, Win’s hands stroking sweat-slicked skin from the swell of her breasts to her pistoning buttocks (distantly, she wondered why she was sweating so much—sex wasn’t _that_ physically demanding), until like in the shower that steel shaft she was impaling herself on seemed to stretch her even more before exploding. Only this time she exploded with it, each pulse splashing against her womb seeming to set off fireworks behind her eyes.

And this time, she wasn’t able to bite back the shriek as she collapsed on top of him.

When she came back to herself, still lying on Win’s chest, feeling the vibrations of his soft laughter, her face against the crook of his neck, she hoped her burning cheeks didn’t raise blisters.

“So, better this time?” he murmured when his laughter died down.

“Mhmm.” Toshiko gathered her returning energy and rolled off him, his softening cock pulling free of her sheath. She could feel her husband’s seed oozing down between her butt cheeks onto the sheet under them. “Come on, let’s grab a shower and get the sheets changed then get to bed—sleep. I’ll do laundry tomorrow. But we’re doing this again ... at least once a week.”

“Except during your period.”

“Yeah, except then.” She could feel her cheeks heating up again.

“As you wish.” He chuckled again, making Toshiko wonder just what he found so amusing about that phrase, it seemed innocent enough. Something to ask Mercedes about at school. “C’mon, in the shower while I change the sheets.”

/\

Win chuckled drowsily as he drifted off to sleep. After Toshiko had come out of her second shower muttering about a test in the morning and what had she been thinking, she’d hopped into bed without a hint of her previous stiffness and faded off to sleep ... it seemed that whatever else might come of his wife’s insistence on meeting her marriage bed ‘duties’, at least one good thing had come out of it.

He hoped it lasted.


End file.
